The Lonely Traveler
by Cory Calhoun
Summary: UPDATED 06-19-04 Chapter 9: "Diviner of the Bones" added! Book 1 in Republic of Heaven series (trilogy of HDM fanfic novels)
1. The Mission in the Mountains

** ONE**

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**THE MISSION IN THE MOUNTAINS**

It was early morning. A chill hung stubbornly air, and the sun had yet to dawn on the world where Lyra Jeffries made her home. Biting gusts of wind whisked through the craggy hills and valleys of the Lapland region, and a storm that had raged the previous night left the area damp and exhausted but, for the most part, none the worse for wear. Climates had changed dramatically in the last twenty-five years, and once-infrequent rainstorms now passed through Lapland with increasing regularity.

On a jutting cliff high in the Lapland Mountains sat a sagging wooden shack. Inside, the angel Chemeron began to stir. He had not rested well during the night.

As he woke, he struggled to make sense of what had happened. He looked down and noticed his hands and feet had been bound. A shiver of dread made its way along his body. Through bleary eyes he fought to discern the alien features of his new surroundings. He remembered everything before he lost consciousness, but couldn't guess at where he'd been taken following the attack.

He ached all over, but it was his shoulder that was the most sore. His body was caked in what appeared to be dirt, though much of it had come off in his sleep. He couldn't shift to relieve the pressure his body placed on his smothered wings. The only part of his body he could move with any measure of freedom was his head, and even that caused him considerable discomfort. He did not know where the cliffghasts had gone, nor did he know who had shot him in the shoulder — and, most disturbing of all, did not know what either party had to do with one another.

In one corner of the room, a small oil lamp flickered peacefully, defying the grim décor of the shack's interior. He observed several varieties of mountain-dwelling animals, skinned and unskinned, dangling from filthy hooks that descended from the structure's ceiling beams. _A sort of hunting lodge? _he questioned silently.

His mind began to fill with more questions, many of them unwanted and hard to dismiss, like a leaky sea vessel flooding faster than the rushing water could be pumped out. Each new thought was graver than the one before it: How long had he been unconscious? Would his attackers return soon? Would he ever hear his beloved Symandera's softly scolding voice again? A glassy-eyed fox resting on the nearest hook stared vacantly at the captive angel, offering no help.

_My mouth isn't covered,_ he thought. He nearly cried for help that very moment, but caught himself, thinking that any noises could bring the assailants back…though, he figured, they may already be on their way regardless.

Chemeron's eyes fell upon the darkest corner of the room. It was eerily void of light, almost unnaturally so, as if the lamp feared to cast its glow on whatever resided in that part of the shack. _Just my eyes playing a trick on me,_ Chemeron hoped. He continued to gaze into the blackness, straining to make out any form or object, any at all. If he was able see _something_, even something threatening, he would feel a little better. It was the burden of not knowing that was getting to him.

After a few moments of intense squinting he began to perceive a pair of faintly shining ovals. He recognized them as eyes. They did not belong to a human.

Just as suddenly has he had noticed the eyes, another light flared into existence.

A pipe had been lit.

Chemeron jolted fearfully. The orange glow of the pipe revealed the hood of a cloak. The face of the cloak's wearer, however, remained concealed. The distance between the pipe and eyes in the dark suggested not one but two figures — a human and their daemon, Chemeron guessed.

The figure and its daemon emerged from the darkness. The figure stood tall, its rough wooly cloak running all the way to the floor. The daemon had the form a frill-necked lizard. It stood balanced on its hind legs, hissing gently at the angel, its frill fully extended.

Chemeron found the presence of mind to speak.

"Stop! You there! Release me at once." He paused for a moment, and reconsidered the demeanor of his request.

"Please," he added.

The figure crossed slowly the prone angel's right side. The hood of the figure's cloak improbably fell even farther forward, hopelessly obscuring their face from the angel's sight. The lizard prepared to pounce.

"Zalvadora!" the figure beckoned. "Stand down." The daemon obliged, still hissing.

"Who are you?" pleaded Chemeron.

The figure puffed a cloud of grimy smoke in Chemeron's face, causing him to gag and wheeze violently on the musty wooden floor. The figure then stepped over the angel, whose injured body shimmered translucently in the glow of the oil lamp, planting a great mud-encrusted boot firmly on either side of Chemeron's torso. He assumed he would not get an answer from the man, and decided not to ask again.

The angel could see something metallic in the figure's gloved right hand…it was a weapon of some sort. Indeed, it was a rifle, and very likely the rifle that felled him earlier that day. He trembled.

"I cannot promise you will see the midday sun, angel," the figure rasped menacingly. "But if you want the chance, you must give me something you have."

It all started at the first window two days before.

Chemeron was one of countless angels whose task it was to close the windows between many of the innumerable parallel universes that overlap one another, the windows had been opened by both the subtle knife and assorted unknown beings and processes. They knew the danger that the open windows posed — to Dust, and to life itself — and had to close every last one, with the exception of the window that acted as an exit from the Land of the Dead.

It had only been two and a half decades since the fall of the Authority and the Kingdom of Heaven, two and a half decades since the angel Xaphania made a promise to Lyra Silvertongue and Will Parry to close all of the windows but one — and despite this relatively short period of time, the angels had made considerable progress in carrying out their mission.

"Many hands indeed make light work," Xaphania once told Chemeron.

Chemeron and his beloved mate Symandera had been given the task of closing three small openings reportedly located in an isolated and virtually impenetrable region of the Lapland mountains in Lyra's world — a region so dense, in fact, that not even the long-lived witches of that world, gifted as they were with the power of flight, had ever come across them in all their travels.

Chemeron assumed that whomever opened these windows was looking for a place with a great deal more vegetation and wildlife than the worlds they opened into had offered. Each was reasonably barren and boasted few appealing forms of life: dull, dry varieties of gray shrub lichen, a biotoxin-rich algae capable of killing any being who smelled it — perhaps, Cheremon joked, it had sealed the fate of the windows' opener — and a species of ten-legged bark ant with a lifespan of a single day. (The existence of the openings, of course, were unheard of even by Lord Asriel, the man who had gone to such extreme lengths to create an opening between his world and the world he had seen in the Aurora — though, given the desolation of the three worlds Chemeron and Symandera had been entrusted to close off, Lord Asriel would more than likely have continued his own work, as fate had far greater plans for him than, say, discovering a doomed species of bark-ant.)

The angels may not have known for sure how or why these three windows had been opened, but they _did_ know approximately where each should be found. Chemeron had always found it fascinating how the other angels were able to accurately predict where certain windows would be located. That information, he'd been told, was divined from all manner of abstract sources: visions, dreams, spectral whispers, and, very often, blind luck and simple intuition. But, it was a system that worked and there was no reason to question it now.

On the first day of the mission Chemeron arrived at the first window, but without Symandera aiding him. If Chemeron had one failing, it was a slightly inflated sense of self-confidence, mingled with a foolish desire to impress through his actions. He wanted to do this alone, which Symandera, a passionate angel in her own right, forcibly objected to. But, as often happened between them, his persuasive charm and earnestness won her over.

"And take care to work in the daytime," Symandera reminded, though Chemeron needed not to be told. Angels were virtually invisible in daylight, and thus aided in the discretion of their missions. With permission from the angels that had granted them the task, Symandera sent him on his way.

He chose to approach the first window by way of the sickly world it opened into. Angels had the ability to move between worlds without the windows, which greatly helped in their task, and he also had a rough idea where the window was situated in that world. Once he was in the first world, he made his way to the window.

It was raining heavily in the Lapland Mountains on the other side of the opening**_,_**and he knew that the view of the storm through the window would stand out better against the bleak surroundings of that world than the other way round.

He passed through the window and into the blustering elements. He was now standing in the narrow space of a large fissure at the top of a formidable outcropping of rock. It made sense that no one would have ever found it; it was nearly parallel to the two sides of the fissure, and impossible for anyone to notice unless they had expert climbing skills and equipment, as well as explicit directions detailing the window's location.

Using the knowledge imparted to him by Xaphania (who had herself been instructed by Will Parry), he reached gently into the air, feeling for the edges of the window, attempting to perceive the edges with more than his fingers, until…there, there it was; he had it. Gently, he closed it. He felt a bit of pride as he completed this act and, despite his desire to go it alone, wished Symandera could see him now.

And he _was_ being seen, little did he know, though not by Symandera.

The storm continued to grow to in intensity, and even though the second window was located thirty miles away (a short flight for any angel), the ferocity of the wind and rain forced Chemeron to find shelter for the evening. He took refuge beneath a massive rock overhang situated at the based of the mountain.

At daybreak he rose. The rain continued to fall, but at a far calmer rate, and the wind had died down considerably. The sky remained overcast, increasing Chemeron's visibility in the open during the daytime. He frowned to himself.

_Extreme care, now, _he thought to himself. He made for the second location.

This opening was even trickier to find than the first. It didn't rest in space vertically, as most windows did, but _horizontally_, and was situated withina large, hollowed-out boulder with a removable stone top.

He hovered over the boulder, which was nearly twice his height, and inspected the lid; it had been cut from the boulder's top and replaced after being hollowed out. It invoked the notion, in Chemeron's mind, of a massive stone jack-o'-lantern. (There were no such things as jack-o'-lanterns in the world of his origin, but he had seen them in others' worlds, including the world in which Will Parry lived, and the image of one seemed to serve as an appropriate analogy.) The one thing missing, though, was a stem, or rather a handle. He reasoned that he would have to shove the lid off, which would not be an easy feat for an angel of his stature.

He positioned himself at the edge of the lid where it met the boulder, and heaved forward with all the power he could summon. The lid didn't budge at first, but after several tries it rumbled free from its position. Chemeron slid it off and sent it crashing to the ground with a hearty thud.

He floated above the opening and peered inside. At first, he thought there was no window at all, but a dark pool of water. After closer inspection, he concluded that whomever opened this window was an extremely clever being; it was almost the exact width of the boulder, and it opened just a few inches above the surface of a lake in the other world. These factors, combined with the depth of the window relative to the position of the boulder, made it appear as if it were a stagnant pool of water within the boulder — and therefore, part of the world the boulder was in — and nothing more. Chemeron was impressed.

It was in that moment of consideration that Chemeron saw the cliffghast's face in the reflection of the lake.

The angel began beating his wings instinctively, attempting to fend off the hideous creature, if not to injure it in the bargain. __

_Blast these dark clouds, _he thought, as the cliffghast let out a piercing cry and started pecking and swatting at Chemeron without mercy. He yearned even a little daylight to disappear into once again.

The angel was struck in the head by one of the creature's knobby limbs, and tumbled off of the boulder, stunned and frightened. He beat his wings again, attempting to gain some distance between he and the surprise attacker.

Before he managed this, a half-dozen more cliffghasts emerged from the surrounding foliage. Chemeron had been making fair progress in his attempt to flee, but the unexpected appearance of the ghasts gave him pause.

It was all the man with the rifle needed.

A sharp crack of gunfire rang out, and before Chemeron had time to react, he was grasping his shoulder and woozy with pain. The sensation overwhelmed him, forcing the conscious effort to stay airborne out of his mind. Chemeron fainted and fell twenty feet straight down. He crashed into a thicket of dry weeds a short way down the hill from the boulder and started to tumble, gaining momentum as he rolled with listless abandon.

"After him!" the man with the rifle shouted in the primitive language of the cliffghasts. "He must live! Go now!" Thorns and wicked branches scratched ruthlessly at the angel's unconscious body.

The ghasts caught up with him and pulled him to a stop, just as he was about to shoot off the edge of a small cliff at the base of the hill. The creatures dragged his body back up to the boulder.

"Not here," the man chastised. "Not in the open. Take him to the shelter."

The ghasts surrounded the battered angel, dousing him with a clingy powder the color of earth and reeking of sulfur. His form revealed itself readily. Each of the ghasts took hold of him in their abrasive little claws, and using their collective flying power moved him to the lodge with the hooks and the dead animals and the incongruously pleasant oil lamp.

At the moment, Chemeron was still trying to piece together in his mind the intention of the man with the pipe.

"The way," the man repeated. "Show me the way."

Chemeron twitched with realization. He understood.

When the job of closing the windows was entrusted to the angels, it was agreed that the method of closing them not be divulged to any other beings. The angels debated the issue thoroughly and passionately; many argued that, with more beings in other worlds assisting them, the task would be completed in even less time. "The age of the Republic of Heaven has begun," one angel noted. "Surely we would not be so callous as to hide this valuable knowledge from those who are most in need of it?"

Many more, though, countered that, were the method of window-closing to fall into the hands of the wrong beings, terrible acts could be carried out under the pretense of preventing the leakage of the Dust. Symandera, a strong advocate of this position, argued, for example, that someone from one world could intentionally force their enemy into another, and then close the window forever; furthermore, an individual could send a disease or volatile entity into a vulnerable and unsuspecting world, causing untold damage to a given civilization. Allying with Symandera's heartfelt argument, a majority opinion was reached, and the knowledge of window closure was to remain with the angels for all time. It was the hooded figure's intent to break that seal of knowledge.

Chemeron, choking on the wafting smoke, forced himself to take a deep, filling breath. He collected his strength, preparing for whatever fate would befall him.

"Never," he promised.

The figure took another puff, and paused. Chemeron held perfectly still, difficult as it was to do so.

"Disappointing," the figure intoned. Chemeron eyed the rifle again. "You make this difficult for me, angel." Chemeron assumed the phrase _difficult for me_ did not mean the act of killing him, but rather that his lack of cooperation was hindering the figure's nefarious agenda, whatever it was. And that suited Chemeron just fine.

"My deepest apologies," Chemeron mocked. He had no fear now. A reassuring calm overtook him; if he died this day he would not die in vain, but rather nobly attempting to keep the secret the angels had sworn to protect. Unfortunately, the third window would still need closing.__

Chemeron expected the figure to say something in return. Instead, the tip of the rifle was lifted and laid squarely on the angel's chin. The figure snorted with disgust — or was it amusement? — and cocked the rifle's hammer.

As the man braced himself for the imminent recoil of the blast, Chemeron noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. The movement was outside the window. It was Symandera.

Their eyes met. Symandera did not have time to be afraid for him. She had deduced the nature of Chemeron's situation, and he could see that in her expression. She gave him another look, almost a slight nod, indicating that he tell the man what he wanted to hear. He knew she was up to something. Much was conveyed between the two, but the moment lasted only a split second and went completely unnoticed by the looming man with the rifle.

"Wait!" Cheremon blurted out. "Don't shoot, please. I… I can show you what you want to know."

The man paused. The angel had finally come to its senses. He laid the gun against the wall. The frill-necked daemon ducked underneath the figure's cloak, as if trained to do so. Chemeron sighed with a depth he had never experienced, as either a man or an angel.

The man snapped his fingers, and three well-trained ghasts entered through an unseen opening hidden in the shack's dark corner.

"Fix him up," the man instructed the creatures. "We leave at first light."

The sun crested the horizon as the group made its way toward the final window. Chemeron was flying under his own power, though deeply sore and under guard by two ghasts with daggers. A fresh coating of the powder had been applied to make spotting him possible. The hooded man was being carried by eight cliffghasts. He sat in a transport on his own design, which looked to be a cross between a litter and a hammock, with handles protruding from all sides. A bulge beneath his cloak shifted nervously. Chemeron guess it was Zalvadora, the man's daemon. Perhaps he had a fear of heights he was not otherwise showing.

The group squinted in the light of the new day as Chemeron led the way to the final location. The ghasts, obedient as they were to the man, were decidedly under some form of spell, though the angel could not guess at its true nature. From the actions of the man, it appeared that they had no idea that there even was a final window to close, only that the angel would need to show them how. Chemeron acknowledged the good fortune that he'd been attacked at the second window and not the last one, else there would have been nothing to show and no reason for him to be spared.

He also wondered at what Symandera was planning. She had found their way out of tight spots before, but they ordinarily worked as a team. He cursed his own ridiculous need to show off, promising to himself he would never attempt such a thing again. All he could do now was wait for Symandera to execute whatever plan she'd concocted.

Every now and again Chemeron attempted to sneak a look at the man's face, but he had now covered it in a thin black gauzelike material through which only he could see out but through which no one could see in.

_That mask is coming off,_ Chemeron also promised to himself.

The motley crew arrived at their destination. They had landed on a sturdy narrow ridge of granite that abutted the mountain at its midpoint, like an enormous bookshelf bolted to a parlor wall. Two hundred feet or so above the party, directly in front of the mighty gleaming side of the mountain and unseen by all of them, the third window hung in midair.

It was situated only a handsbreadth in front of the sheer rock face that towered over the small figures. The face was covered with a thick layer ice and snow, reflecting the morning sun with a pitiless brilliance. The world it opened into was one of eternal sunshine caused by the two suns it revolved around in a figure-8 orbit. The brightness coming from the window, relative to the high reflectivity of the rock face, would make its exact location difficult to pinpoint.

"This will be no easy task," Chemeron said, hoping in vain that the man would agree and let him go. "I would only start the process. You would have to try it for yourself to fully understand how it is done, and you would need to hold still while—"

"That is what they are for," the man shot back, waving an arrogant finger at the huddled ghasts. "We will rise now." And they did.

The dual suns of the world had a reddish tint, and though the window wasn't very large — _Must have been an early test window_, Chemeron surmised — it allowed for just enough variation in color to stand out against the slope. Chemeron instructed the others to halt. They had reached the window.

The angel and the others looked through the small aperture in space. At first they could not make out what was on the other side, but Chemeron informed them (or at least offered his best guess) that the window opened in front of a white slab of choral-like rock. The cliffghasts stared transfixed as they flapped their wings exhaustively. The man clapped his hands to regain their focus.

"You start," the man said. "I shall watch."

"Of course," Chemeron replied. At this point he began to wonder if Symandera would ever arrive, let alone be able to prevent the secret from being revealed. He assumed she would appear just in the nick of time and distract his captors long enough to escape.

He reached out for the edges of the window and began the process of closing it… but before he made any real progress, he turned back to the man.

He decided to stall.

"Before I continue," the angel said, "there are a few things you should probably know about windows into other worlds." Though he knew well enough how to close them and about the Dust leakage, he knew little else about their properties, or even _if_ there were more properties to know about. Dare he start to making things up? Though he could not see the man's expression, he sensed it was a blend of intrigue and frustration.

"Do not speak, angel. Proceed or else."

Chemeron glanced around nervously. No sign of his dear Symandera. His dear, dear, tardy Symandera. He would have to improvise further.

"Certainly, certainly," he stammered. "But if I don't tell you, you won't know how to do it properly. You see, I can't simply _show _you, contrary to what you may have heard." Chemeron hoped whatever information the man attained didn't contradict the bluff he was currently perpetrating. "Indeed, there is one critical piece of knowledge you must have before attempting this procedure, for without it…"

Chemeron paused. He could think of nothing with which to complete his thought.

"Without it _what?_" the man demanded, now visibly concerned.

Chemeron glanced around again. Where was she?

"For without it," the angel stumbled on, "…you will…die."

_You will die? That's all? For without it you will die? _He thought the blunt lack of specificity of this conjured fact would no doubt raise the man's suspicions.

"Die how, exactly?" the man inquired.

Chemeron didn't see that coming. His mind scrambled for any answer, any thought or bit of information he could think of that might offer the man a plausibly vague (and hopefully satisfactory) response. He thought for a moment to mention the leakage of the Dust and the threat it posed, but as he didn't know anything of the man's intentions, he felt revealing more than what he was brought here to show could only hurt the situation.

"The Specters," Chemeron uttered. The threat of Specters only applied to anyone who _opened_ a new window, and an adult at that, but it was the only thing he could think to say. He hoped the man would not know of their existence, ask another question, and buy the angel a little more time.

The man gave a short gravelly chuckle. "Specters, you say? I know all about Specters."

Chemeron nearly forgot to continue flapping his wings for a moment, or breathe, or perhaps both. He wasn't sure. And he wasn't sure of what to say to the man next, either.

"Do you, now?" the angel queried, trying not to tip his hand. "What have you heard?"

"I need not tell you, angel. I'm sure you know already. Never mind what I have heard." He nodded at one of the cliffghasts, who deferentially withdrew a dagger from a crude sheath tied to its scaly midsection. "Continue. Now."

Chemeron was out of ideas. He turned back to the window and reluctantly started to feel for its edges. The detection was slow going; the threat of the cliffghast with the dagger trained on him did not make his concentration on the window any sharper.

At last he closed off the top portion of the window, pinching as he went, until only the lower half was left suspended in air. He would now show the man how to close the window from the bottom up. Of course, he would not have to if Symandera would only spring into action.

"Your turn," Chemeron sighed. The man made a forward motion with his hand, and the cliffghasts inched the transport toward the opening. Chemeron hovered close by.

"First," Chemeron said, "you need to feel for it with the tips of your fingers. Don't force it; let the edges find _you_."

The man did not question the instruction, and did as he was told. "I… I do believe I feel something there," said the man, not quite able to stifle a betraying sense of giddiness. He regained his composure. "Yes. There it is. I can feel it." The man began to seal the lower half with surprising ease, as if somehow he had performed the action before and that his entire encounter with the angel had all been part an elaborate ruse. Or so Chemeron hoped.

The man stopped. There was only a small gap left. He relished the moment.

"Take a good look, angel," said the man, no longer containing his deplorable pleasure. "You are about to witness the completion of the first step." He turned back toward the gap, hands outstretched, fingers delicately caressing the violated air.

Before Chemeron could ask what that first step would eventually lead to, a shimmering fist shot out of the hole in space, striking the grinning man squarely in the jaw.

_And about time, too,_ groused Chemeron to himself, perturbed but happy to see Symandera finally arrive.

"I'm so sorry, my dear," she said from the other-world side of the hole. "Apparently his cliffghasts have friends."

A moment later she was hovering by his side. The two wished to embrace, but the man, who had just been sent sprawling onto his back, suddenly lunged for the two with a dagger of his own, hoping to mortally wound at least one of them. The cliffghasts, who ordinarily would have joined in to help their de facto leader, were too tired from maintaining a level position in the air, and could only watch the action unfold. The angels darted away quickly and out of the sweeping arc of the dagger as it sailed through space, missing the two by mere inches. The man had apparently overestimated the momentum he would need to strike a fatal blow, for the force he exerted carried him over the edge of the craft, sending him falling down the side of the mountain, past the ridge of rock, and into the dark of the heavily shadowed forest below with a soft sigh of a crash.

The angels could no longer see him. They hung in the air for a moment, staring at the cliffghasts, who all appeared to be near death with fatigue. Deciding that any skirmish with these two angels would be a mismatch, they dropped the craft and droopily glided to places of solid footing.

The two angels peered down at the forest far beneath them. "Shall we go after the man and see who he really is?" Symandera nodded, and they descended toward the spot in the canopy where the man had fallen.

What the angels found gave them a profound shock.

"Where…where _is _he?" stuttered Chemeron. The man was nowhere in sight. Symandera scanned the high branches of the pines and could find no trace of him. Chemeron squinted in the dimness of the tree cover and found no hint of the man either.

"Not a shred of clothing, nor a clump of hair or flesh," Symandera reported.

Chemeron shook his head and stared at the soft cool earth of the forest floor. "There is no impression in the ground where he may have fallen, either. No blood."

Nothing.

Chemeron turned from Symandera. "He is not dead. Of this I'm certain." He spoke sullenly, ruefully. Symandera touched his shoulder. "You did your best, my dear."

He sighed. "Just before you arrived, he mentioned something…I didn't like the sound of it."

"What's that, dear?"

"He mentioned this was 'the first step.' Is there anything about that other world that might be of some value? Or danger?"

"I was told nothing by the others."

He shook his head. "This wouldn't have happened if I had not been so… If it were the two of us and not…" He turned back to her, a stern expression of regret and resolve on this shimmering face. "Never again," he promised to her. "We'll always work together, no matter what I think or feel."

"Don't worry, my love," she warned sweetly, "for _I_ promise never to let you forget it." She gave him a forgiving embrace. It was good to be in her arms again.

"Hopefully the others will know," she said." We must tell them what has happened."

The two angels rose from the forest, closed the third window, and left to seek out the other angels.


	2. Unexpected Blessings

TWO:

UNEXPECTED BLESSINGS 

In the world of Trylia, dusk began to fall in the province of Kaasitar. Sultry ribbons of cloud layered the horizon, and the sun offered what rosy light it had left before setting for the day. Rays trickled through the canopy of a great forest of ranja trees, bathing the forest floor in a high-contrast mosaic of sunlight and shadow.

In a dusty clearing, crouched behind a growth-covered ranja log, a young girl named Pa'Rin planned her attack.

     "Ah…I see it now," she whispered to imaginary soldiers. "He means to take us where we stand. But he is not as clever as we are! Let us see who truly has the power." 

     Across the clearing, behind a large thicket of reiberry plants, her pet tralion Rymar shifted his weight from side to side in playful anticipation. This time, he represented the enemy regime. Usually Pa'Rin chose to have him play one of her own soldiers, reasoning that having a dragon-like beast of burden nearly three times her own size would give her the upper hand. But, as it was only imaginary warfare, and no one but the two of them were playing, she felt it was more important to have a living being represent the enemy than playing footsoldier to her commander.

     Pa'Rin was a beautiful young girl, with ear-length black hair and large brown eyes that absorbed what visual knowledge they came in contact with. Her skin was a rich olive color, which differed somewhat from the shade of skin most Trylians had. Still, her appearance was not so different as to frighten the people of her world, but did make the occasional stranger take a moment to observe the difference.

     She crawled slowly along the length of the log, keeping her head low. She reached a hole in the log that looked through to another one on the opposite side, allowing for a view of the clearing. The floor of the clearing was covered in meticulously constructed miniatures of soldiers and battleships, each made from twine and ranja bark with great care by Pa'Rin.

     Rymar was not as intelligent as Pa'Rin, of course; he did not possess the ability of speech as did, say, the polar bears of Iorek Byrnison's kingdom, but could understand the movements and vocal inflections of humans, as could apes or dogs from Will and Mary's world. He knew that he and Pa'Rin were playing a game, but he did not understand what the small objects in the clearing represented, nor what their importance to Pa'Rin was. He did understand, though, that this ritual was something Pa'Rin enjoyed, and, more importantly, was something she enjoyed doing with him.

     Suddenly, Pa'Rin sprang up from her position of concealment.    

     "Death to Tosh the Third!" Her tiny voice carried through the trees with a youthful might. "Grevo M'Rais is coming for you!"

She pulled a miniature model of a tralion from a fold in her clothing. The model featured a series of tiny letters inscribed on its wooden back. She lobbed it over the log, sending it crashing into several of the small ships and taking out two dozen soldiers with it. She then hurled herself over the log, falling on her side, scrambling for a pile of stones a short distance away. She leapt behind them, once again taking cover from the make-believe nemesis in the reiberry plants.

     "That was a diversion," she whispered again to no one. "His forces are preparing to attack us from the front. The fools!"

     Most children Pa'Rin's age attended school and were learning about basic arithmetic or mastering their language skills. She, however, had been schooled by her parents, and had already learned much more than that.  She knew roughly how the economies of Trylia functioned, understood the methods used to produce an abundant harvest cycle, and had studied much of Trylia's history and many of its major conflicts and heroes.  The particular battle she was currently recreating, with the help of her beloved pet and squadrons of toy soldiers, was the greatest battle in Trylian history, the Battle of Lake Hyllaro.

It was at this battle that the Emperor Ry'vlir Tosh III, a despot who controlled most of the nations of ancient Trylia, fell to the rebel armies of the remaining nations in a massive battle between hundreds of armored sailing vessels. The emperor believed that Ves, the god most worshipped in this world, had chosen _him_ to become their new god, promising "divine rewards in the next realm" if they obeyed and worshipped him. And we would either conquer or kill those who did not easily fall into line.  Many Trylians wished to maintain their freedom to worship Ves (and nothing else) in their own ways.

Pa'Rin was currently playing the role of Grevo M'Rais, the great hero of the legendary battle. Statues of M'Rais stood in all nations of Trylia, and no fewer than three holidays had been named in his honor.

     Rymar held still, waiting for Pa'Rin's next move. In the original battle, Commander M'Rais had coordinated a clever diversion to render the enemy armada vulnerable. His forces sent a tralion to fly to the lead ship in Tosh III's forward battalion — but not from the direction M'rais' ships were positioned. The tralion, now revered as a symbol of cleverness in the name of goodwill by contemporary Trylians, had a message attached to his back. It was shot down in mid-flight by a large spear from the lead ship and fell to its death on the ship's forward deck. The message read: "DEATH TO TOSH III / LONG LIVE FREEDOM!" As the armada began to turn in the misleading direction the tralion had approached from, an unseen group of rebel ships sailed in from the northern side of the massive lake, taking Tosh III's forces completely by surprise.

     Rymar peered over the plants to see if he could catch a glimpse of Pa'Rin. He knew she was about to strike.

     "Freedom from the North!"

Pa'Rin pressed forward and toppled the stones behind which she'd been hiding. In her hand was a crude wooden sword she'd fashioned for a ranja plank her father had given her. This was Rymar's cue.

     He trundled out of the bushes, making soft growling noises as he played his role. To anyone watching who did not understand the bond between the girl and the tralion, the scene would have appeared perilous.

     In his teeth he held, as his weapon, a lilting, pathetic tree branch with many of its leaves still attached. 

     "The mighty Grevo M'Rais has arrived! Prepare to meet your end!"

     Pa'Rin lunged lightly at Rymar with her wooden sword, kicking the soldiers and ships with both feet and sending them flying in myriad directions. (She didn't mind if she broke them or not; she'd made several like them before, and would make several like them again for the next time they played.) Rymar shook his tremendous head back and forth, branch flailing in his mouth. Pa'Rin struck at the branch with the sword as she moved through a choreographed series of chopping motions. Rymar knew them well, obediently reacting with a litany of countermovements that Pa'Rin had trained him to perform. On occasion she would accidentally (lightly) strike him, but he paid no mind: his thick, rust-colored hide prevented any serious damage, and his love for the girl made up for any pain she could ever cause him.

     At last, Pa'Rin came to the end of her sword routine, which Rymar took note of. He bowed his head and waited for Pa'Rin's final action.

     "Freedom for Trylia! Ves be with us!"

     She started moving in slow motion, giving the scene's finale its proper dramatic flair. She held the toy sword aloft and took a step toward Rymar's lowered head. Her eyes were wide with heroic vigor, her mouth open with a silent roar of triumph.

     She brought the sword down on Rymar's muzzle with the gentlest touch she could manage. Rymar open his eyes widely and rolled them, mimicking the enemy's face in the throes of death. At least that's what Pa'Rin had taught him to do.

     She drew the sword back and thrust it into a makeshift holster at her side. Rymar closed his eyes and rolled over onto his back, dropping the branch from his mouth, crushing the plants and unintentionally smearing himself with the of the plan thick brown juices, his tongue lolling from his toothy maw. Pa'Rin climbed onto his exposed belly and produced a flag from a holster on the other side of her waist. She waved it back and forth through the air while kneeling on Rymar's stomach, which heaved rhythmically as he breathed.

     "Long live the rebels! Long live the rebels!" Grevo M'Rais had saved the day once again.

     Rymar opened his eyes and looked up at Pa'Rin. Their gazes met, and both froze exactly where they were. A second or two passed.

Pa'Rin threw down her flag, flopped down on her own belly, and tickled the tralion with playful abandon.

     So it was with Pa'Rin. She had two parents that she loved deeply, but there was a special connection with Rymar, who was her only other friend in a world that feared and hunted her.

     The light in the evening sky was beginning to fade. Pa'Rin and Rymar sat at the edge of a murky pond that lay over the hill from the clearing where the battle had taken place. The two were stained thoroughly with reiberry juice, a substance that can only be brought out of fabric with mud made from the ground indigenous to the reiberry plant itself. The pond was thankfully full of this mud, as Pa'Rin had discovered, and was covering her clothes in a healthy coat of it. Rymar watched curiously.

"Mud that cleans clothes," Pa'Rin mused. "Surely a riddle I don't know the answer to."

Rymar had already cleaned himself off by swishing around in the deep of the pond. He dried himself off by rolling in a patch of long grass near the pond's edge.

"It's getting late, Ry," noted Pa'Rin as she covered the last bit of berry-stained fabric. "We'll be needing to go back soon…I hope Mother and Father will not be too angry…"  
          She took another good look at her clothes. "I'll tell them…I'll…well, I suppose I could say that…no, no, I won't lie," she said. She did not lie to her parents, and though she was certainly smart enough to conjure a convincing tale, the thought of doing so made her ashamed.

"I'll tell them that you fell into the bushes…and I came to help you…and it rubbed off onto me! Yes. That is not a lie. I can say that. Let's be sure next time not to play so close to the reiberries." She patted Rymar on the snout. He grunted happily.

     "Now, I must scrub it all off…shall I do it at home, or here?" Leaving now meant getting home on time, but it also meant returning with muddy clothes and a semi-truthful explanation for them. 

     "What to do, Rymar…what to do…I suppose I should finish now. I'll work quickly. Yes, I can finish if you help me. Here, follow me."

     She walked into the pond until she was up to her knees in the brown, silt-filled water. She waved Rymar to follow her, and he did so without a moment's thought. He stood next to her and knelt down, his wings tucked at his sides. She pushed one of the wings back to reveal his left flank.

     "Now hold still. This will tickle, but I do not mean for us to play right now." Though he didn't understand the language, something in the way she spoke made him understand that her intent was serious.

     She took off her shirt and plunged it into the water, thoroughly soaking it. She then pulled it from the pond and began scrubbing it against Rymar's tough hide, using it like the surface of a washboard. Rymar dug his tough claws into the yielding bed of the pond, trying his level best not to writhe with the pleasure this action was bringing him. He twitched a little, though uncontrollably so.

     "It's working!" Pa'Rin exclaimed. "But you must hold still, Ry," she instructed gently. "We do not have much time here." She gave the shirt another minute of forceful scrubbing. After she was finished, she held the shirt in front of her, giving it a close inspection. Though the shirt was brown with traces of muddy water, the reiberry stains had been completely lifted. The water would evaporate shortly, and the dried mud would fall away, leaving the fabric no worse off than before.

     She repeated the process with the rest of her clothing. Rymar sat perfectly still.

     It was nearly nightfall. The light of day had almost completely faded from the trees, and the far-off glow of the lamps of her village could be seen through the forest's lazy branches. Pa'Rin was nearly finished, and it was a good thing too, because Rymar could not bear any more of her scrubbing.

     "You did very well!" Pa'Rin praised. She hugged his left ear, making him grunt happily again. "It is time to go home, Ry. You will need to fly quickly."

They stepped out of the pond. Pa'Rin began scanning the shore, looking this way and that with concern. "Where is my sword?" she said. "Rymar, have you seen my sword?" She knew he wouldn't answer, but asked the question regardless. She simply couldn't go home without her beloved wooden sword; it was the one toy she never let come to harm. She had taken great care in making the sword, using the tools from her father's workshop, applying various inscriptions and phrases taken from the accounts of Trylian war heroes and liberators. She had never known these people outside of a lesson from her parents, but the stories captivated her imagination, and with few people in her life, there were as real to her as anything else. The toy sword, to her, represented far more than just an object used for playtime.

Finding the sword would take time, a commodity she had precious little of at the moment. Searching in the dark would be difficult, even with Rymar's keen vision, and there was no way of knowing how long it would take to find it.

"We must look for it, Ry," she said uncertainly. "It won't take long. I just know it." She and the tralion began retracing their steps as best they could

She knew that even if they had both left for home at that very moment they would still be back later than her parents had told her to. And this weighed heavily on the young girl. The thought of disobeying –- even worrying -- her parents, the people who had done so much for her and had risked their lives countless times to keep her safe…it was too much to bear. 

     For Pa'Rin knew that she was very different, as did her parents.

     From the time she was born, Pa'Rin was the source of much curiosity in her village. In the years following her birth, interest in Pa'Rin spread throughout Kaasitar, reaching the nearby city of Ranjaro, across Lake Hyllaro and into much of the nearby countries. Even as far away as the continents of Miritain and Jirasca, the people of many nations heard rumors of a child with dark powers.

The source of all of this was simple. The residents of her parents' village knew that her mother, Leital, could not conceive a child. Neither she nor her father, Agran, could explain how a pregnancy could have occurred. At first, rumors of infidelity swept through the village. Such an offense was at one time punishable by death in many Trylian cultures; and though such sentences were no longer carried out in the more civilized regions of their world, the act of infidelity, even when only assumed and unproven, was considered highly objectionable and even a harbinger of ill tidings. Fortunately, friends closest to the married couple knew that such indiscretion would not be in Leital's character. And they were right to think so, but the mystery persisted. 

Strangers would occasionally visit the couple's home, claiming to be high priests and other religious figures wishing to pass their blessings onto the child. Many were. But the couple was nothing if not intuitive, and could sense bad intentions where others could not. From then on, Agran and Leital had to be on their guard. They chose to school her themselves, and allowed only the dearest friends and relatives access to the child. It was a difficult choice for her parents, but they could think of nothing else.

     At the age of two, the couple decided on a name for their daughter. (It was customary not to name one's child until two years after their birth, as prescribed by many Trylian religious texts; Agran and Leital didn't believe it was necessary to do so, but felt that following the practice might bring a measure of good luck to them and their daughter.) The two settled on a name taken from their words for _blessing_ and _unexpected_: "pah" and "ar'rin," respectively. 

Agran and Leital had owned Rymar as a pet and work beast for years before Pa'Rin had been born, and were very careful to keep them apart for fear of injury to the young girl. The couple showed great affection to the tralion, who was also another being in their care that differed from its own kind. Most tralions had dark blue-green scales, while Rymar was covered in scales of beige and rust-red. His appearance was uncommon, but not rare. Still, Agran's neighbors and fellow harvesters were leery of his animal, though for no good reason they could think of.

     When Pa'Rin turned six years old, her parents arranged for a small party celebrating her birth, despite the danger of more "visitors" asking for a chance to see her. Ironically, the amount of seclusion her parents provided for her only aroused more suspicions of her true nature; she did not attend school for children her age, nor  would she ever attend school in the future.  _Perhaps she _is_ something to be feared went the thoughts of many. _

A trusted group of well-wishers had been invited, and even then the party was not to be a large affair. They requested that the strongest male relatives stand guard at the front gate of their home, just to be safe. Despite their size and strength, the men were more than happy to be outside of the home rather than in.

     Pa'Rin was in her room before the party, laying on her bed and gently kicking the wall. She wasn't sure if she wanted to have a party anyway. Her parents never explained to her that there were people who feared her, but she sensed that they were keeping her from seeing other people and didn't know exactly why. She had only met other children once or twice, and they were relatives of her parents. She thought there was something wrong with her, though she wasn't quite sure.

     Even at her age, she wanted to know the truth.

She had plenty of things in her room to keep her busy: books and maps and various educational toys, and plenty of materials with which she made make almost any piece of art she wished. These things, these distractions…they were beginning to lose their power. For unbeknownst to her parents, Pa'Rin had come down with a long-developing case of acute cabin fever.

There were no windows in her room (for protection), though her father did fashion a way for the light of the sun to enter the room without anyone being able to see in or out: the ceiling contained a large square that housed an angled slat that reflected light from the home's exterior. This way, he had hoped, she could enjoy a little of the outside world and still be free from harm. 

The little girl poked her head out of her room and into the hallway. She could see into the entry room of the small home, and saw her mother laughing with a few other women she wasn't sure she recognized. Or had she seen them before? She couldn't remember.

She didn't care whether she did or not. She only felt…trapped…or controlled…but her parents only had her best interests in mind. And yet…she had no intention of wanting to meet the people down the hall, the people that only her parents said she could be around. She wanted to meet people whom her parents hadn't met first. She wanted to see places that her parents hadn't already deemed safe for her to visit.

She wanted to do it now. And that meant leaving the house.

_But only for a little while,_ she reasoned.

She had a thought.

     First, she quietly closed the door. She braced it shut by wedging a writing board used for her studies in the thin space between the door and the floor. Next, she moved her bed to the center of the room, taking great care in not making too much noise. If she was discovered, she feared, her parents would make her even more of a secret.

     Once she had the bed where she wanted it, she slid her tall clothes chest to the center of the room and braced it against the edge of the bed. The chest had several drawers in it, which she carefully removed one a time and stacked in the corner of the room. She went to the door and put her ear against it—she had to be sure no one could hear her activity.

     She looked at the chest and bed for a moment, and tried to decide on the most secure position for the two objects. After a bit of consideration, she turned the chest so that the drawer openings were facing the bed. Now everything was in place.

She took a nervous breath…_Am I bad for doing this?_ she thought. She had never in her young life attempted something as ambitious as this, as _rebellious_ as this, but felt driven by the need to be…what was the word she was searching for…

Free! She wanted to be free…but she did not hate her parents for what they had done; on the contrary! She loved them as few children had ever loved their parents. But still, she had to have this one moment for herself. Even if her parents caught her, she rationalized, they'd understand her actions.

She couldn't turn back now. 

She gathered every bit of courage she had and climbed onto the bed. She put a tentative foot in the first of the drawer's openings, testing the sturdiness of the improvised configuration. It seemed steady enough. She put another foot up, and still no movement. This was going to work.

She began to climb.

After what seemed like a short lifetime, Pa'Rin reached the top opening in the chest. Her tiny hands were slick with nervous perspiration. She wiped them onto her blouse and refocused her concentration.

She very slowly maneuvered herself onto the top of the chest and looked down. She had never been at this height in her room before. She held still for a moment, not breathing, intently listening for any sign of her parents or the others. After she was satisfied that she was safe, she reached her arms above her head and touched the ceiling. Directly over her was the vent through which the sunlight entered. It was getting late in the day, and the light had shifted considerably during the last few minutes. It would still be bright enough outside for her to see, but would only stay that way for a short time. She had to act quickly.

The size of the squarish vent was double that of Pa'Rin's shoulder width. She gave the vent a push and found it to be resting loosely in a hole in the ceiling. _Does Father know this is loose? She thought. Perhaps he did, assuming that no one would think to try entering through the roof. Or perhaps he had overlooked it, which would be unusual for such a thorough craftsmen._

_Maybe he left it loose on purpose! No, that would be ludicrous. Still, Pa'Rin found the possibility intriguing. Did he mean for her to find this someday? The answer to her question would have to wait._

She continued lifting until the vent was standing on edge, fastened to the ceiling by hinges on one side. She looked around in the space beyond the vent opening and discovered the home's crawlspace. It occupied the area between the ceiling and the roof, and was filled with various tools and supplies her father had stored there. A shaft of light reflected into her eyes from a slanted mirror located a short distance ahead. She saw that the light originally entered through a thick-paned window just above the mirror. _Of course!_ _In through the window, off of the mirror, and through the slat in the vent! She was proud of her discovery._

But there was more discovering yet to do.

She grasped the edges of the hole tightly and pulled herself up into the crawlspace. There was enough room in which to move comfortably, and the light from the window made for plenty of visibility. Now all she had to do was open it.

Off to her right, she found a mallet and chiseling tool she'd seen her father use in his woodworking. She grabbed them and crouched close to the window. Delicately, she placed the tip of the chiseling tool in a crevice where the window met the edge of the roof opening it rested within. She tapped the end of the tool with the mallet. Nothing happened.

And then she heard something. Or rather, she _thought_ she heard something. Maybe it was just her nerves toying with her. She hoped for as much.

A minute passed, and still, no noises from below. She continued. She would tap a few times, pause, and tap again. She made progress with each tap, and after another eternity of fierce concentration the window finally popped open.

The window was just big enough for her to shimmy through; any older, and her size would have prevented her from fitting through the opening. She sat on the roof, taking care to keep out of sight of the two men standing guard, and taking a long, cautious look at the world below. She certainly had a new perspective on her surroundings. And for the first time, she realized, she was outside _by herself_.

It was then that she heard the noises from within the home.

She thought she heard her mother, or one of the strange women, say something to the effect of "…should have been looked after more closely," followed by upset anonymous male voices and the swift, muffled footfalls of those assisting in finding her. They'd be on the roof soon.

It wasn't fair. She admitted that it wasn't the perfect time to attempt something like this, but when exactly _would_ be the best time, if there was such a time at all? It occurred to her then that some things in life needed to happen, even if it meant risking a great deal in the process. She hoped life would not be full of situations such as this.

She could hear the voices getting closer now. They were no doubt in her room, astonished at the structure she had fashioned to facilitate her escape. Trembling, she moved away from the window hole and toward the rear section of the house.

It was from that vantage point, while looking out into the high-fenced backyard area of her home, that she first laid eyes on Rymar. In fact, it was the first tralion she had ever seen anywhere, except in books.

She was terrified of what she saw.

Instinctively her feet started to move, but the roofing material was loose where she was standing. She lost her footing and landed on her backside, digging her nails into the material, clamoring to gain a solid hold of any kind. She was too petrified to scream for help. 

She was so close to where the section of the roof that sloped down into the yard that she started to slide. There was no way to stop this from happening. Her lungs found breath, and her mind found the will to scream. It was the loudest she'd screamed since her birth exactly six years ago to the day.

As Pa'Rin fell, her eyes remained fixed on the dangerous looking creature in the yard. She could not tell how long all of this was taking. The sight of the beast filled her with fear, as did the falling, and neither fear was canceling the other one out. Fear took on a new meaning, achieving an unthinkable level in her inexperienced mind. She believed she was going to die, and all because she wanted to know more about the world outside her room.

She hit the ground forcefully, in a patch of soil softened into mud by runoff water from the roof. The impact knocked the wind out of her despite the cushioning of the blow.

A moment later, she passed out.

Rymar had watched this entire scene unfold and hadn't moved one bit. This was not due to indifference on the tralion's part, though; he was frightened for the little human, and became frightened himself. And now she had fallen and wasn't moving. He had to do something _now_, but his tralion brain couldn't decide what that something should be.

He moved toward her slowly and cautiously. He knew humans could inflict great harm, and though he sensed this young human was in trouble, he didn't know what she might be capable of if he did the wrong thing.

Rymar knelt in front of her limp body. He could hear the voices in the house, worried voices, and sensed he could be in trouble soon. But couldn't leave this young human here like this…he had to wake her up so she could be with her other humans. He knew how important it was to not be alone, even though he hadn't spent much time with other creatures outside of working with Agran and other beasts in the fields.

He leaned closer to the child in the mud. His head spanned from her waist to the top of her head. He was, in comparison, the size of a large horse in Will Parry's world, but was far stronger and much faster. If provoked, a tralion could easily dismember a creature, human or not, with a single blow from one of its robust wings…if it hadn't already taken a sizable bite from said being first.

Rymar started sniffing Pa'Rin. He found her aroma to be pleasant, not like the humans he worked with on a regular basis. The scents her mother had bathed her in felt wonderful to his nostrils. He felt calmed by her smell, and knew that she would do no harm to him.

He gently nudged her side with his massive snout to see if he could get her to stir at all. The process of sniffing and nudging was something he had always done with small game animals that he had hunted and devoured. For the first time, he was using this method to keep another being alive.

Pa'Rin didn't move. Rymar could hear the voices moving through the home, moving out in different directions, all saying the same thing: "Pa'Rin!" "Where are you?" "Come back!" He had to make her be alive somehow.

He tried nudging her again with a little more force than the first attempt. Still she would not wake up. He was beginning to think she was dead…but she was still warm, and did not have the smell of death about her. What was wrong? He did not have the answer. He laid his head next to her body, as confused and disappointed as a beast of his intelligence could feel. If tralions could cry, his great eyes would have muddied the ground even further with tears. Instead, he made soft whimpering noises few tralions had ever uttered.

And then, as suddenly as she had slipped off the roof, Pa'Rin began to regain consciousness. She blinked groggily, her head swimming in a ocean of disorientation, seeing nothing but the evening sky and the emerging stars above her.

She heard an animal making noises nearby. That much was clear to her.

Pa'Rin closed her eyes again. She had no recollection of what had happened; was she dead? Had she been killed by the fall? Or by the beast in the yard? She listened closer to the noises...was that—whimpering? It sounded too soft to be the beast…some other sort of animal perhaps? Something _smaller_, she hoped. She didn't want to see it, whatever it is. Now she just wanted to be found. She'd apologize for leaving the house, promise never to do it again, stay inside forever…

No. That wasn't true. She didn't want to stay inside forever. As afraid as she was, she would not let that influence how she felt about things. And she reminded herself of what she had realized only moments ago on the roof: life requires risk. Now she amended the statement with the word _fear_—risk and _fear_ were important parts of life.

She knew she had to look over at the source of the noises. And she did.

What she saw did not terrify her, but did hold her rapt in stunned fascination: the beast, whom she was positive would tear her apart and devour her as soon as it had the chance, was making the soft noises. Its head was turned away from her, its massive rust-and-beige body shivering with sadness.

She wasn't afraid of it anymore, but she wasn't completely comfortable with it yet either. She sat up slowly, trying not to attract the beast's attention. But as she moved her left hand to shift her weight, an air pocket within the muddy ground burst. Startled, Pa'Rin gave a little yelp.

The beast stopped shivering as he heard this. Pa'Rin, noting the beast's awareness of her, was became a statue.

Rymar grained his head toward Pa'Rin, glacially, keeping his eyes on the ground the entire time. He sensed that if she was indeed awake by some miracle, he did not want to frighten her by looking straight at her, as often happened when he'd looked into the faces of human children that worked alongside their parents in the fields.

Pa'Rin watched the tralion's moment, wondering how long this could possible take, feeling removed from herself, as if she were living out a moment in someone else's life, not knowing what would happen next, and strangely lacking any sense of apprehension about the moment after this one.

Rymar could see out of the edge of his downcast vision that…yes! She was alive! The feeling of calm returned to his primitive mind; he knew that she would be reunited with her humans, and all things would return to how they had been before. He breathed more normally now, but continued to whimper out of sympathy for her troubles, and above all, to show her that she was now safe.

Pa'Rin stared at the beast's massive head, and with every passing second, became aware, somehow, of what it was trying to do. And she _did_ feel safe now, knowing that it had no intention of harming her. She almost began to feel silly for ever having thought of such a thing happening. _Almost_.

Rymar again laid his head down in the mud, mere inches from her leg. She felt his warm, dewy breath against her dirtied shins, listening carefully to his soft whimpering, marveling at how a sound that delicate and gentle could come from a creature of this sort. Pa'Rin felt the urge to…pet? Was that it? To pet the beast…a tralion, she thinks they were called. Was that what she wanted to do?

Yes. She wanted to pet this tralion.

Boldly, with an excitement she'd never felt before, she reached out her right hand and laid it on Rymar's imposing snout. Much to her delight, he squinted his eyes with comfort and reassurance, and the whimpering stopped completely. They were both at peace.

Pa'Rin and Rymar had become friends.

They sat for a moment, discovering the joy they felt in each other's company. They were too wrapped up in what they were doing to hear the voices of the people searching for her, the people who knew nothing about what had just taken place between Pa'Rin and her father's beast of burden.

One distinct voice broke the serenity the two were sharing: it belonged to one of the strange women Pa'Rin had seen in the entryway.

"She could be back here…look back here, Agran!"

_It won't be long now_, Pa'Rin thought, no longer worrying for her own welfare, or what her parents would do with her. Nor was Rymar worried any longer. He was pleased she would be back with her own kind.

The woman, a neighbor named Mallora, approached the gate to the backyard. The fence surrounding the yard was too tall to see over from the ground, and its boards to placed to closely together to see through from even close up. Mallora would have to open the gate and look inside.

Once she did, she let loose a shriek as neither of Pa'Rin or Rymar had ever heard, from any creature.

"Leital! Your child! She's…she's…oh, help us Ves, help us!"

Pa'Rin didn't understand what the fuss was about. What was there to be upset about? She'd found her, and she was fine, just in the backyard—

"The tralion's got her! _The tralion's got her!_"

Pa'Rin laughed to herself. _Of course that's what she thinks!_ But she realized that no one else knew that she was all right, and perhaps everyone else _would _think he'd done something to her. Perhaps, then, they would want to punish her new friend, or maybe even worse…

Pa'Rin stood up, slipping a bit in the mud but quickly getting her bearings. "No! You don't understand! He wasn't hurting me! He was just—,"

Her father Agran appeared behind Mallora in the gateway and saw how close Rymar was to his daughter. He was already in a state of panic, and he had just heard Mallora screaming that the tralion had her. He began shouting at Rymar.

"Back, Rymar! You get back! Away! Go on, now! Away!"

Rymar was confused. Why are they shouting? And at me? Or were they shouting at the girl too?

Pa'Rin calmly tried to interject. "Father, it's all right. The tralion didn't hurt me! Look, I'm unharmed! I just—,"

Her mother entered the yard and added to the screaming. Her father continued on, undeterred.

"Rymar! Away! Get away from her!" He was holding what looked like some sort of spear…was he going to throw that at her new friend? And what had he just call this tralion…Rymar? So that was her new friend's name. But she wasn't thinking of that fact for very long. She was too focused on her father. She had never seen him like this before, so defensive and seemingly capable of violence. She understood that he was only being protective, and somewhere within her she appreciated that. But at the moment, all she wanted was to keep her new friend safe from her overreacting father. So she did something drastic.

She jumped in front of Rymar.

Her father stood in amazement. What was Pa'Rin doing? Did she know anything about what these beasts are capable of? Had she forgotten everything he and Leital had taught her? 

Leital clung to her husband, swooning with helplessness and praying for her daughter. The men who had been entrusted to guarding the house now entered the yard, collectively gasping at what the others were already looking at.

"Pa'Rin, move away from Rymar. Very slowly."

She looked into her father's eyes.

"No," she said. "He won't hurt me. He's my friend."

Her father stared back at her with confused shock. Friends? How in Ves' name could she have gotten into a situation like this after only being gone for just a few minutes? He felt a great shame wash over him, as if he had failed somehow in all the work he and his wife had done in trying to keep her safe. And now, he was certain, it would all end here, in the backyard, with this tralion.

Pa'Rin could see the uncertainty in the eyes of the adults. She had to do something to prove to them that no harm would come to her from the beast.

And before she'd thought to do it, she hugged Rymar around his scaly neck. Rymar liked this very much. Even he had the hope that this might help the humans to see what was going on.

Her parents were at a loss for what to do. Mallora was terrified and speechless, clinging to the gate and trying to keep from fainting. One of the two men, named Treyos, had an idea. He tapped Agran's shoulder gently and got his attention. The other man, Viroon, approached as well.

"We could try to move in slowly with the spear," he whispered. "You could lead, and distract the beast and the girl."

"And then we could strike," whispered the other man, named Viroon. "I too have a weapon. You know our skill, Agran. We can help."

Agran heard what they had said, but was fighting off a swarm of confusing imagery and actions that he was already barely able to grasp. He forced himself to drop the focus from his daughter for a moment, and thought through what would need to happen: he'd move toward Pa'Rin and Rymar, they would hang back, and at the right moment, would strike Rymar down, preferably between the eyes. It would mean killing the best work animal he'd ever owned, and he was quite fond of him, but even the slightest chance that an animal of this size and power might harm a single hair on his daughter's head…it wasn't worth the risk. He'd made up his mind.

Agran gently pushed his wife off of him and handed the spear to Treyos. He stepped forward, forcing a calmness into his voice, realizing that his daughter's life depended on it.

"Pa'Rin, I'm sorry. I won't…"

He paused. No, he wouldn't be lying if he said what he was about to say.

"I won't hurt Rymar. I promise." No matter what happened in the next few moments, he did not want Pa'Rin to remember that he had lied to her, not even now.

Pa'Rin wasn't sure yet. Who were those men? And there was still the business of her escaping from the house a short while ago.

"Are you angry with me, Father? For leaving the house?"

He _was_ a bit upset, but as she correctly assumed, he understood why she'd done what she'd done.

"No, Pa'Rin. I am just worried for your safety. You know there are people who want to treat you badly. We just want you to be safe. We've always wanted that. You know that, don't you?"

Pa'Rin began to cry. She felt awful for what she'd done. She didn't regret the discoveries she'd made, nor the friendship she had just begun, but she felt a great sadness at betraying the efforts her parents had made for her.

"I'm so sorry, Father. I'm sorry, Mother. I love you both."

Her mother was crying as well. She reached for Mallora and clung to her arm.

"We love you too, dear Pa'Rin," her mother said. "It is alright."

While Pa'Rin was talking with her parents, Treyos and Viroon were imperceptibly moving into position. Treyos still held the spear, while Viroon stealthily withdrew a long knife that had been neatly tucked into his vest. Agran was very close to Pa'Rin now, who clung to Rymar's neck even tighter.

It occurred to Agran that whomever was going to strike Rymar would have to do so without accidentally striking him from behind—or, for that matter, accidentally striking Pa'Rin. He'd known the two men for many years, and knew them to be excellent long-distance hunters, using a variety of sharp-bladed weapons for their sport and striking their prey with heralded accuracy. And in this moment, he couldn't bring himself to completely trust them. He knew there was no way to stop the men from throwing; all they were waiting for was the signal to do so.

"Now," Agran rasped.

Everything happened in slow motion for Pa'Rin. She saw the man with the spear lunge forward and shove his father out of the way. The other man swung his arm around and was holding a very large knife. Her father tripped as he was being pushed and landed facedown in the mud. She saw her mother screaming, reaching out for both her father and herself. The man with the spear threw it down and tried to move her mother and the other woman out of the way. The man with the knife continued swinging his arm forward…he was going to throw it at Rymar! Or me? Was he aiming at me? Had this man tricked my father and mother into coming to the party and trying to kill me? The fear of dying at the hands of an intruder, the very sort of person her parents had struggled for six years to keep her away from…the fear of death overwhelmed her. She could think of nothing else.

No sooner than the thought had entered her mind, Pa'Rin and Rymar vanished into another world.

It was suddenly dark to Pa'Rin.

Had she died? Yes. She must have died. Though…

If she were dead, why were her arms still holding Rymar tightly? Was he dead too?

She gradually released her grip on the confused tralion. He wasn't sure what happened either. Was it night already? Night never fall that quickly; he knew that for certain. 

Pa'Rin could only think to call to her parents.

"Mother? Father? Where are you? Where…where am I?" Her cries echoed in the blackness…echoes? Wherever she was, there were walls.

"Hello?" Again, the echoing. She was reasonably sure she wasn't dead, though she had no idea what death would be like. Maybe there were echoes wherever you went when you died.

She noticed that there was no answer from anywhere, except the reflection of her own pleading calls. And then, she felt something at her feet.

Rocks.

     Were there rocks in the place you go when you die? She was beginning to dismiss the theory of death altogether. She was more curious about learning what this place was; she'd figure out how she got there later on.

     She reached down tentatively with a shaky hand, the other firmly pressed against the tralion's side for stability. She grasped in the dark and felt…yes, those felt like rocks certainly. And what else was that she felt? Was it…moss? Was there moss on the ground? She hoped it was moss, and not something sinister that only felt mosslike. But no movement or sound came from anywhere, and no danger seemed to be lurking nearby, so moss it was. She grabbed a piece of it and put it in a fold in her blouse.

     Pa'Rin knew she could not stay in this one position forever. She was still extremely puzzled by her current situation. She was less afraid than she was a moment, and her fear was dissolving into a determined curiosity. She didn't necessarily want to be in the place, but she knew she had to figure out where she was if she ever wanted to go home.

     And she remembered something she'd been taught by her parents: Tralions have remarkable vision, and are capable of seeing very clearly even in total darkness. Why was this Rymar seeing, she wondered? She wasn't sure how to communicate with the tralion, or if she would ever be able to, but she knew she had to make the attempt.

     "Rymar," she said, testing to see if he would respond to the name her father had called him. And he turned his head toward her obediently.

     "We're going to move forward now," she gently commanded. "We need to see where we are." She knew he couldn't understand what he she had just said, but felt the need to say it anyway. She figured if he saw something he found frightening or perhaps simply blocking their way that he would react in kind, and she would adjust their direction of movement accordingly.

     She took a step forward while keeping a guiding hand on the back of his neck. She stepped forward with her, sensing that she wanted him to go along with him. They took ten steps or so, with no sign of hesitation from the tralion at her side. Perhaps an escape was just ahead.

     They took another ten steps, then another, until the two of them were walking without stopping at intervals. _If I am not dead,_ she thought, _then what place is it that is so large and yet so very dark?_ She hoped the answer would come soon. 

     Suddenly, Rymar stopped. Pa'Rin halted in her tracks as well, trying to sense what it was the tralion could possibly be looking at. He didn't seemed frightened, simply curious.

     The tralion began walking without Pa'Rin leading him. He definitely saw something ahead…but what was it? All she could do was try to keep.

     After a minute or so, Pa'Rin could a long, faint vertical sliver of light in front of her. She couldn't judge its distance, but she didn't care if it was a full day's walk to the light. She knew she had to get there. Rymar continued excitedly, but never moved so fast as to leave the little girl behind in the darkness.

     A few more minutes had passed, and the sliver had grown in both size and brightness. She sensed that she was approaching the opening of some sort…was she in a cave? Is this the way out? The two continued on.

     At last, she was close enough to the light to determine its exact nature: it appeared that it was some sort of opening leading out of a cavern. The opening appeared as a sliver of light because of the extreme angle it was at in relation to the two of them; the mouth of the cave must turn abruptly. No cave she had ever learned about was shaped in a such a way. Very curious.

     Pa'Rin was elated by the prospect of seeing again. "Did you know it was an opening all along, Rymar?" The tralion grunted softly. She took it as a yes.

     They were not yet close enough to see beyond the edges of the cavern mouth; all Pa'Rin could make out was the texture of the rock that lined the interior. They still had a few hundred steps to go.   

At last they reached the opening, and look outside. 

Below them lay a sprawling canyon reaching out for miles in either direction. The mouth of the cavern was an opening in one of the canyon walls, hundreds of feet above the canyon bottom. It was late afternoon in this world; the sky was a solid purple, with no clouds. The canyon was a kaleidoscope of rocks and growths of different colors—deep rich reds, pearlescent veins of exotic minerals, granite-like materials glittering in the midday light. Pa'Rin was taken aback by the beauty she saw.

Creeping along much of the rock of the canyon were long stretches of mosslike growth, hanging over ledges and shimmying up into crevices and other cavern openings. No breeze was blowing, but the climate was warm and inviting.

_Perhaps I have died, Pa'Rin reconsidered. If it were so, she did not mind._

Rymar gazed at the new landscape, unsure of what to make of it. He closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet air of the new world. He found it to be sweet and soothing, not unlike the scents Pa'Rin had.

As taken as she was by the gorgeous surroundings, she knew she still had to determine what this place was. Part of Trylia? Somewhere in Kaasitar? Surely not; she'd learned much of the geography and the history of the formation of the continents of her world, and no region, not even those near the equator, had this combination or arid desert topography and lush vegetation. How was it possible?

She looked to both sides and could find no way down from the opening in the cave. The wall of the canyon was too steep to climb down, and she didn't like the idea of going back into the cavern in search of another way that lead from her present location.

She had another thought: _Could I climb on Rymar's back…and could he fly us away from here?  A tralion requires training to grow accustomed to a rider, and even a well-trained tralion needs to be outfitted with some manner of saddle and reins to ensure a safe and controlled ride. Pa'Rin and Rymar had neither. But she didn't know what else to do. Something told her, though, that he would allow her to attempt this, and that he would make sure she didn't fall off._

"Rymar," she said affectionately. "I want to try to fly to the top of the other side of the canyon. I want to ride there on your back." She pointed to the opposite edge as she said this, and he could tell what she was suggesting. He too wanted to explore this world, and not wanting to leave his small friend stranded at the mouth the cave, knelt down and allowed her to mount him.

She had a bit of trouble getting onto him at first, but she was able to steady herself by grabbing the part of his wings that meant his back. She pressed herself against him, anticipating her imminent flight across the canyon, realizing that her grip on Rymar would be the only thing keeping her from falling to the distant canyon floor.

"Alright, Rymar," she instructed. "Let's go."

Rymar himself was a little unsure of what would happen; he'd only ever carried cargo for her father to and from other villages, and though she was nowhere near as heavy as anything he'd hauled, he'd never carried a living being before, and certainly not one that he cared a great deal about. He knew he had to be careful. 

He stepped back from the edge and squared up his feet. She wrapped her arms around his great neck, clasping her hands together for safety. Rymar began flapping his great leathery wings, stirring up the dust at the opening of the cavern.

Moments later, they were hovering within the opening. It was now time to go forward.

The two swooped down from the cavern along an smooth unseen slide. Pa'Rin's heart beat madly with exhilaration. Only a short while ago she was in her room, fretting over the party her parents were arranging for her. Now, she was on the back of a mighty winged beast, a creature who was now her friend, flying through the vast sky of a beautiful nowhere.

She looked down into the cavern below. She could see the floor was covered with an endless expanse of the mosslike growth. _No river,_ she wondered. She'd learned how canyons were formed in her world: over vast spans of time, by the erosion of river water. Perhaps it had dried up long ago.

Rymar was only a quarter of the distance across the width of the canyon, but he wasn't showing any signs of fatigue. He was enjoying the flight, beating his wings with a sense of freedom he had never felt before. He was not sure he wanted to ever return to the world he came from. And if he ever did, he wanted to be with the young girl.

Pa'Rin continued to peer into the gaping depths of the canyon, drawn in by its fertile magnificence. It was terribly fascinating. If she ever returned to her world, she would have to tell her parents all about it. The young girl's fascination was so great, in fact, that she hadn't even noticed that she was beginning to lose her grip.

Rymar could feel her beginning to slip, but did not have time to adjust himself to counter her loss of stability. Pa'Rin continued to stare, her mind filled with questions and trying with all her might to answer them.

And then she fell.

For a split second, she did not even realize what was happening; after all, the events of the last hour or so seemed like that of a dream—why should this be any different? But her body knew she was falling for real, and the truth of this sensation snapped her senses back to frightening reality. She reached out for Rymar.

The tralion wasted no time in trying to save her. He went into a steep dive, quickly plunging farther and faster into the canyon than Pa'Rin was. He wanted to try matching her speed, allowing her to land gently on his back. He changed direction began to ascend. She was now falling toward Rymar.

But she was falling too fast, and Rymar couldn't slow down. She knew she would simply bounce off of Rymar—or worse, hurt him, rendering him incapable of flight and the ability to keep her from falling. Once again, fear had control of her.

This time, though, the fear approached levels exponentially greater than those during the incident on the roof. Somewhere within her mind, she knew she would likely have survived falling into the yard, and was only unsure about the intentions of that unknown beast who was watching her. Now, though, she knew with certainty that _this_ fall would do the job. The thought of Rymar dying intensified her dread.

He tried to maneuver out of the way, but was not quick enough. Unthinkingly, she reached out for his right wing, fighting the urge to drag him down with her but desperate to find something to hold on to. She wanted so badly to be back in her world; she didn't care where in Trylia, just…anywhere—

No. She wanted to be _home._

A second later, she and Rymar were back in Trylia, back in Kaasitar, back in the yard of her home.

Pa'Rin and Rymar were both breathing heavily, taking in the scenery that seemed so familiar and yet so very unexpected. Had they dreamed everything? Or was this still a dream?

Pa'Rin looked around. No one was in the yard. She noticed that she and the tralion weren't in the exact location of their earlier departure. They were closer to the gate now, and were facing the side of the fence against which they were earlier huddled. Jutting out of one of the board's was Viroon's knife.

Pa'Rin's heart skipped a bit. It must have been real! She had to be sure.

She reached into her blouse, feeling for the item she had pocketed earlier. Sure enough, her fingers felt the soft, giving texture of the mosslike growth she had first picked up in the cave.

That evening, after Pa'Rin returned the house and everyone had left (her parents told them to leave immediately upon her return), she told her parents everything that had taken place. She told them about her escape, falling off of the roof, her introduction to Rymar, the darkness of the cavern, the impossible beauty of the canyon world, and her terrifying last few moments there. Most parents would not believe such a story, but her parents _had_ seen her and the great beast vanish before their very eyes. And she also had the mosslike growth. Nothing quite like it could be found in Trylia. Her parents took her for her word. They taught her a word she'd never heard before: _psi'vali_, or "the air of life." They told her she was endowed with much psi'vali, which, in her world, is believed to be the unseen force that maintains all life, and is strong with those who have much good in their hearts and make the world a better place. In Lyra's world, it is called Dust.

Their belief in what she had told them went beyond the evidence. Agran and Leital had always known their daughter had abilities greater than those of the inhabitants of their world. They weren't sure what to make of what the world with the canyon, for it sounded nothing like the mythical lands of Trylian lore and religion. Her father surmised that it was some sort of haven she could travel to, one that she could use to bring herself or anyone else (since Rymar had been in contact with her both times she had traveled). Her mother proposed that it was the fear of harm and death that had triggered her departure and return. They did not know when she might again travel to the "Havenworld," as her father called it, but took comfort in the notion that it existed and provided a sanctuary for her while any threat to her in Trylia passed into harmlessness. But what else she was capable of, or whether she could consciously control this new ability, her parents could not venture any better guesses. The couple saw this ability as a blessing to their daughter, and felt it was something that made her their own special gift in life.

Her parents also made note of her new friendship with the tralion. She told them that it was him that saved her life, and over the course of the next few days proved to them, through a series of warily-observed tricks she had taught to Rymar, that he was completely at ease with the child.

"Look at them, Agran," her mother pointed out one evening as their daughter and Rymar played in the back yard. "She finally has a friend to call her own. The life we've made for her has afforded her so few of them." Her father still couldn't completely shake that first image of the tralion hunched behind his tiny daughter, but the evidence of the bond between them was impossible to deny. The weeks passed, and she and her new friend developed all manner of games and activities. Her imagination soared like never before, and the receptive tralion was pleased to be with such an affectionate being. For time, peace was restored to the lives of the small family.

It was unfortunate, then, that Agran and Leital were not the only ones to have witnessed the vanishing of the girl and the tralion.

A few days after the party, the woman Mallora met with Treyos and Viroon, discussing what they believed they'd seen. They knew for certain that she and the tralion had returned safely; they'd stayed at the home for a while longer that evening and were present when she returned to the house. The three of them told others, who told others, who told countless more. And the rumors of the girl reemerged, fueled by first-hand accounts of three respectable residents of Kaasitar Province.

Soon, the original rumors, which were relatively vague and innocuous by comparison, were inflamed by the concept that this child could vanish and reappear at will. Several correctly speculated she could travel between worlds, but without the evidence of this world (the moss Pa'Rin had kept with her), it remained speculation and nothing more. People began referring to her as "the tralion girl," "the Abomination," or worst of all, "the kaam'da," which meant "the ruin of all things." Her parents shielded her from such talk, but she knew the incident in the back yard was being spoken of far and wide.

Pa'Rin had now returned to the clearing where the mock battle had been fought. _I must have dropped it here, she hoped. Rymar knew its scent and helped her search._

The tralion returned to the reiberry bushes that he had earlier demolished. Pa'Rin knew that he'd found the sword, but it had been mashed into the berries and the leaves. Unfortunately, the mud Pa'Rin had used earlier could not remove the juice stains from ranjawood.

Pa'Rin sighed wearily. "We'll have to leave here, Ry. We'll tell Father…that it was damaged accidentally. He will understand."

She had just made up her mind, when she heard her terrified screams coming from the direction of her home. Her face turned ghostly pale.

Rymar instinctively crouched into a defensive position, ready to attack, take off, or both if necessary. Pa'Rin hopped aboard his back, and without saying a word the two headed for home as fast has his wings could carry them.

Pa'Rin knew what was happening. She began sobbing uncontrollably as she clung to Rymar.

_They came for me. They came for me and I wasn't able to stop them, she thought. She didn't know what she could have done to help…could she have taken her parents to the Havenworld? Of course she could have!_

_I was careless. I should have been home already. _

She heard the cries again. She didn't know how much longer her parents had.


	3. The Jeffries Girls

** THREE**

****

** THE JEFFRIES GIRLS**

It was a picturesque spring day in Port Meadow, and Bella Jeffries was feeling rather giddy. It was not uncommon for girls of her age to be giddy, and she could, on some level, attribute some the giddiness to her own plans for the day: she was on her way to the spring Horse Fair in Jericho, Oxford, an event she looked forward to every year. There she would be meeting with several local and gyptian children friends. There was, though, another reason for her giddiness, and it was in fact the main reason -- one of those reasons that you know is the cause of the something, but aren't yet ready to admit to yourself as _the _reason.

His name was Theo Balfour.

"My parents liked Banbury well enough," Theo said, "but my father decided his business would be a bit more secure down in Oxford, so that was that." Bella hung on his every word with wide-eyed fascination, as if he were recounting some adventurous tale in which he'd slain a three-headed giant. He may as well have said so at that particular moment.

"That sounds wonderful," Bella said absently, smiling and not completely registering what he had just said. She was just shy of thirteen years old, nearly a young woman but still a girl, and did not yet know what was to fall in love…but she certainly _was_ in the throes of being smitten.

Trailing behind her and Theo was Bella's mother Lyra, who accompanied her daughter to the fair at Jericho each year. Lyra had been to the fair as a child many times, fighting several battles with her childhood friends and foes along the banks of Jericho. Bella didn't know too much about Lyra's days as an urchin of Jordan College, but told Bella what she wanted to know whenever she asked. Lyra, too, was planning on meeting with old gyptian friends that day, as well as a chance to reacquaint herself with memories of days gone by.

"Perhaps we should let them alone for a short while?" whispered Lyra's daemon Pantalaimon, who was curled around her neck in the fixed form of a pine marten. "We may be making her a bit uncomfortable."

Lyra had stayed several paces behind the two children, reading a book on amateur gardening technique as she walked. She felt it proper to act as a chaperone for the two children, but did what she could to make her presence as unobtrusive as possible.

"I haven't said a word," Lyra whispered back to Pantalaimon. "I'm making sure not to interfere. And I do have my book, of course."

"Are you actually reading it?" her daemon asked.

Lyra paused. "This one passage on hydrangeas is terribly fascinating." Pantalaimon rolled his tiny eyes. "Though," she quietly went on, "I may have accidentally eavesdropped on them, but only a little. Mothers are allowed _that_ much, or didn't you know? Don't worry, Pan. I'm a paragon of discretion."

Bella was too transfixed by Theo to notice her mother's whispering. She thought of something to ask Theo, to keep the conversation flowing.

"Have you ever been to Horseford for the Ox Fair before?"

As she said this, the tip of her shoe caught on a small root protruding from the dirt path, causing her to trip – not enough to make her to fall, but just enough to flush her face with a radiant shade of red humiliation. Her daemon Ramses had been quietly darting along beside her as a squirrel for some time, but had changed into a madly flitting hummingbird. Theo chuckled politely.

"No, I'd be lying if I said I'd ever been to _that,_" he chided. There was an awkward pause. Bella couldn't think of how to recover, and Theo was struggling to let her know she needn't be embarrassed. Ramses hovered apprehensively at Bella's side.

"Though," Theo finally said, "I _have_ been to the Henry Loyal Regatta."

Bella burst with laughter at his play on the phrase _Henley Royal Regatta_, and the redness of her face receded as swiftly as it had appeared. He _was _clever, wasn't he? Theo felt it was a weak play on words that he'd made, but was glad to have eased the tension.

"Have you really?" Bella said. "I've never been, but Mother has told me about it." She was nearly ready to ask Theo more about the event, but again faltered for words.

_Why is it so difficult to talk to him?_ Bella wondered, silently half-answering her own question simply by looking at the young man. _His eyes are brightest shade of blue…_

Realizing her ability to speak was at least momentarily impaired, she opted for a different means of interaction.

"I think we need a bit of racing practice before we arrive at the fair," Bella ventured. "There'll be a lot of running and such, you know. We ought to be prepared." Theo smiled warily.

She began pointing at various landmarks. "We'll start here, then around the curve in the path up ahead, and finish near those old fence posts, past that stable." She desperately hoped he'd accept her invitation. He'd already come this far…__

Theo's grin broadened, but stopped himself short of agreeing to her challenge. He was a bit unsure. He thought that such a race might seem improper in the presence of Lyra. She was, after all, an _adult,_ and children should show exhibit some hint of reserve around them, even on such a day as this. Further, Lyra was also the headmistress of the school he attended, and it felt odd doing anything _childish_ around her.

Theo and Bella had met through each other parents, when Mr. and Mrs. Balfour were seeking to enroll Theo in Lyra's boarding school. Bella tagged along with her mother when she went to meet with Theo's parents, and it was then that she first met him. She'd never thought much of boys before that moment as anything other than just as friends…but there was something about Theo that made her like him more than other boys she'd met before. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew she wanted to see him again.

"Bella," Theo first said when he met Bella. "That means _beauty,_ right?"

He was the first person other than her mother to ever say that. "It was the name of a girl my mother met once," Bella answered, referring to one of the children Lyra had encountered at the station at Svalbard. Her mother had always liked the name, and its meaning suited Bella's looks perfectly.

**"**Mother?" Bella was now approaching Lyra. "Theo and I should like to have a short race between ourselves before we arrive at the Fair."

Lyra knew the children were planning something with the urchins and the gyptian children, and that it had something to do with a kind of race or contest they'd devised, but felt she ought not ask for more information on the matter. After all, she'd had plenty of adventures herself when she was Bella's age, and she had no problem with Bella having the same sort of fun – as long as she found her again by nightfall.

Lyra turned to Theo. "I oughtn't send you home to your parents covered in grass stains," she said with a wink. "Are you sure you'll be mindful?"

Theo looked away sheepishly. Lyra could barely contain the amusement she had from watching her daughter interact with the young man.

"Could you hold our coats for us, Mother?" proposed Bella. "This shan't take long."

Theo composed himself. "I don't think my parents will mind if I dirty up the rest of what I've got on," he added. "These are my sporting clothes, anyhow." Bella thrilled at his acceptance.

"Don't go too fast," Lyra said to them with a smile. "The ground is rather slick. I wouldn't want to you to fall and harm yourselves."

Lyra took the coats and bundled them in her arms. Bella dragged a line in the dirt with the heel of her shoe.

"We'll go from here," she said to Theo. The two of them crowded at the makeshift starting point, ready to launch themselves down the path.

"Mother, will you give us the start?"

Theo was fascinated by the relationship between the girl and her mother. He was close to his own parents certainly, but her mother seemed free-spirited, young at heart…and _fun._ They were unexpected attributes, but ones that he welcomed.

Lyra produced a scarlet kerchief from the breast pocket of her coat and held it above her head. Pantalaimon watched silently, charmed by the scene.

"Runners! On your mark, now!"

The children hunched over with their hands touching the ground.

"Set…"

Lyra waved the kerchief.

"Go!"

And off the children went in a flash of youthful exuberance, around the corner and out of sight.

"She certainly is her mother's daughter," Pantalaimon mused. "And just as forward, it would seem."

Lyra laughed. "Well, I _have_ always taught her to pursue the things that are important to her."

"True," Pantalaimon said, "though one can't rule out the possibility of the trait being an inherited one."

"No, Pan, I suppose one can't. You could say the same about inherited traits for me as well." Lyra thought of her relationship with her own late mother, Marisa Coulter. She remembered how her mother hadn't been there for her for many years while growing up at Jordan College, how her mother came to her sporadically and with her own horribly misguided motives, how she'd been terrified of her at the station in Svalbard where the children's daemons had been cut away, how she'd kidnapped her and kept her in a drug-induced sleep in a cave for several days. She also thought of how Ma Costa, the kindly woman of gyptian royalty, who had taken care of her even when she was too small to remember. But there were other sides to those coins; just as she'd at one time known Ma Costa as nothing by an imposing, domineering figure, she knew her own mother had a better side of herself than she was accustomed to seeing. She recalled that her mother took her into hiding and kept her asleep in an effort to keep her safe from those who wished to harm her, and that she'd ultimately found redemption by sacrificing her own life so that Lyra could have her own. Lyra had promised to give Bella the childhood—and the life—she'd wished she'd had herself.

"I remember finding out about my mother's death, Pan," she went on, "talking with the ghosts who had seen she and father fall into the Abyss with that angel Metatron. I wasn't sure what to make of it for the longest time. I'd only ever known her to be this great monstrous force in my life, but…"

"I know," Pantalaimon said. "She really did care for you, deep down. And you miss her."

"Funny, isn't it? Oh Pan, you know how I wish I could go back to that cave…even as just a fly on the wall, or to at least be _awake,_ and to see her face, see her when she was at her kindest. In my dreams, I see that face sometimes."

Pantalaimon nodded. "The best things she'd ever done for you, you never saw her doing them. You could also say the same for your father."

Lyra considered her father, the late Lord Asriel, whose own ambitions and actions contributed to the full of the Authority and the Kingdom of Heaven. "Yes, that's true. I have them to thank for my life."

She turned and looked at the river, watching the various barges and tankers hauling their brimming wares to the festival, the ships' goods ready to change hands as was done every year. She took a deep breath, drawing the fragrant scent of snakeshead fritillaries into her nostrils, feeling them conjure up thoughts of her late husband, Daniel Jeffries.

"It's good that she never really knew him, isn't it, Pan? Sad to think so."

Pantalaimon knew who she was referring to. "In a way, perhaps," he said. "Bella will always feel she's missing that part of her life, but the pain won't be as bad as if she'd be attached to him."

Lyra bent down and plucked a fritillaryfrom the green earth. When she and Daniel took walks along the riverbanks, he would always give her a flower. He made a game out of it, trying to find a different kind of flower each time. The first flower he'd ever given her, though, was a snakeshead fritillary. Their abundance in springtime made visits to Port Meadow bittersweet and made her more emotional than usual.

Pantalaimon nuzzled Lyra's neck. She began to weep softly in spite of herself. She felt an odd blend of emotions; she missed Daniel, certainly, but it was the deeper scar of losing _any_ loved one that pained her more greatly. Once had already been enough with Will, but to lose Daniel…

She remembered her final, saddening encounter with Will, in the Botanical Garden in the Oxford in his world, both knowing they could never see one another again, each of them pledging their undying love to one another, despite whatever happened in their lives. She still held a very special place for him in her heart, and even having married years later, she still thought of him often, still visited their special bench in her Oxford Botanical Garden every year on Midsummer Day. But Lyra was young when she'd made that promise, and could not possibly have imagined what time would demand of her heart and mind. She loved Daniel dearly, but knew, _felt,_ that Will was and would always be her soul mate.

"Yes, Pan. It's for the best," she said, her voice trembling but carrying on. "I know it."

She stroked her daemon, who was quiet with sad reassurance.

"We should get going," Pantalaimon gently reminded her. "The Costas are expecting us."

Lyra nodded hastily and wiped the fresh tears from her face with the kerchief. She placed the fritillary gently on the ground, delicately nestling it between its companions, in some small way paying her respects to Daniel. In the distance, she could hear the laughter of Bella and Theo. A smiled returned to her face.

"One thing is for certain, Pan," Lyra said with building cheer. "Her future will be a good one."

"Thanks to you," Pantalaimon said.

Tears streaked Bella's own face. She'd never laughed so hard. She and Theo had made it to the fence posts when she tripped (again), this time on an odd stone that breeched the path's surface. Her misstep sent her sprawling into Theo, who had the slight lead. This time, though, she hadn't tripped by accident. The two of them tumbled off of the path and into a patch of high, wet grass a meter or so from the edge of the river.

"Bella! Are you alright?" said Ramses. He was back in the form of a squirrel, sitting on his haunches at Bella's side.

"I'm just fine, Ram!" Bella's shoulders shook as she tried to speak. "Accidents happen!" She looked over at Theo, who was pulling a handful of marshweeds from his mouth. She laughed even harder. Theo's daemon, Hera, was presently a pinkish-gray bullfinch. Using her beak, she set about picking twigs and clumps of soil from his hair.

"I know these are your sporting clothes, Theo," Hera said, "but you oughtn't ruin them before we even get to where we're going."

Ramses changed to a falcon. He circled high above the children, looking out for Lyra, who would soon catch up to them.

"I may not know too much about this game of yours, but you'll have to do better than that if you want to win today," taunted Theo. "I'm sure there'll be more to deal with than slippery grass."

Bella pulled herself up from the soggy ground, smiling. The nervousness she had felt was now gone. She and Theo had shared a moment together, something she secretly swore she would never forget.

"You oughtn't say such things, Mr. Balfour. I've won the last three years in a row, and I don't plan on losing now."

"This is the first year you've had to deal with me," Theo countered playfully. ****

She helped him up. "After this year," she added, "you won't think twice about playing Authority again."

The repercussions of the fall of the Kingdom of Heaven were still visible to that day, particularly in Lyra's world. The fall had come to be regarded, paradoxically, as both a series of factual occurrences and a source of great myth and legend. Only a scant few (Lyra included) knew the full details of the events she had witnessed, but many of the events were unavoidable to notice – the varying shifts in the world's climate patterns, for example.

Shortly after the Authority's fall, several of the larger religious ruling bodies were thrown into chaos. The Magisterium, the largest such body, began to weaken, as were its constituent parts; the General Oblation Board had vanished, and the Consistorial Court of Discipline had drastically lost its way. Now, many years later, the Magisterium had very nearly faded into obscurity in the wake of freer-thinking leadership at the helm. The Consistorial Court had been dissolved years ago due to lack of support, with its surviving members scattering in hiding. With the Magisterium no longer the iron-fisted juggernaut it had once been, people were able to make choices that simply hadn't existed before. It was as if a mighty yoke had been lifted from the backs of the people of Lyra and Bella's world, and the joy of freedom – of thought, of religion, of choice – drove many to abandon the faiths they for so long had followed. Still, even now, many prayed to the Authority, or _any _Authority, disbelieving the stories they'd heard, if only to adhere to the ideas they were used to thinking for familiarity's sake. There were still many who believed in the good that a higher power could offer, but with the notion that such a higher power no longer existed becoming more ever-present with each passing year, only a devout few remained.

Every facet of Oxford culture had been affected in some way, and the magnitude of the changes reached across the full spectrum of everyday life – from the decisive changes in religion and economy to subtler, more pervasive shifts in points of view. The conversations, the expressions of mothers and businessmen and scholars, all reflected the knowledge of the events, as does any culture that bears witness to revolution. Several lesson plans in the colleges had been altered (where appropriate) to incorporate the idea of self-determination versus destiny. Merchants who had often prayed to God for clement weather or a plentiful harvest now placed their hopes in the hands of Fate or Chance or other manifestations of fortune. The gyptians – some of whom had witnessed the events firsthand – incorporated the knowledge into their longstanding ways and rituals.

The ideas and information trickled down to the children of Lyra and Bella's world, of Anglia, of Oxford, of the children of the servants of Jordan College, of the urchins who played in the streets and on the college rooftops, of the children of the gyptians in the Fens and on the rivers and the canals. The sons and daughters of those who had once played such Magisterium-inspired games as Kids and Gobblers (named for the slang term for the General Oblation Board) now played games based on more recent events. Games like Specters (a diversion frowned upon by several parents involving a cloaked child, three or more other children, and any unclosed window), and Authority, an elaborate game of complexity and clever thinking that rivaled the battles Lyra had once waged in her younger days.

It was the latest round of Authority that Bella and Theo were to engage in that day at the Horse Fair. Rumors of Lyra and Will's encounter with the Authority had surfaced long ago, but those closest to Lyra in positions of power guarded this secret closely to keep any zealous hangers-on from approaching her with unthinkable intentions. If anyone were to discover _she_ had somehow been involved in the Authority's demise – even if it were accidental – who knows what they might try? Nevertheless, the versions of the story of Lyra and Will's incident with the Authority were as numerous as the children who told it, with no one ever really knowing what the Authority's true form was or how he ceased to exist.

"Me mum told me they stabbed Him in the back, they did!"

"I 'eard the 'thority jumped at the girl and the boy, and they had to fight 'im off with just their bare 'ands!"

"They played a game of Questions, and the old angel croaked because he lost!"

"The boys at school say it ain't an angel, or a God, but a night-ghast of some sort that was pretendin' all along!"

So it had been for many years, and so it would be for many more.

The identity of whomever conceived of Authority was as mysterious as its inspiration, and how and why _it_ had replaced simpler, less organized forms of battle was also a point of contention. But there was no question whom its perennial contestants were: the urchins and townies of Jordan and Oxford, and the gyptian children at the Horse Fairs. The game was a turf war, as any good battle between such children had been, fought on an annual basis with the stakes always high. The winners had home rights for the following year's contest, and the losers, grudgingly, would submit to whatever unpleasant fate the winners chose for them. This usually involved being tossed into a nearby pit of mud or drainage pond, and _that_ usually became a skirmish unto itself. But to win the initial challenge was the main goal, and it alone was the deciding accomplishment that set the stage for the following year. The exact form of the contest would change yearly, not only to prevent any one side from developing a strategy, but, certainly _the _most important aspect of all, to prevent any meddling adults from learning of their business.

Lyra finally met up with the two children. She laughed a little, but not enough for them to notice.

"You two seem ready for whatever it is you have planned," she said. "Care to let me in on what your secret game's all about?"

"Lyra!" whispered Pantalaimon admonishingly.

She caught herself a moment too late. She'd been doing her best to not ask her daughter too many questions that day, but she couldn't help it; the memories of her own childhood exploits were fresh in her mind: the raid of the Costa's narrowboat, the old battles at the claybeds with the brick burners' children… she'd forgotten that she was in fact a thirty-seven-year-old mother, not privy to all the secrets and goings-on of children.

Bella stood frozen. Her mother was usually very respectful of her privacy, and knew what she should and shouldn't ask about. There was also the matter of the sacred nature of the game. Bella knew vaguely that her mother had something to do with the fall of the Kingdom of Heaven and the Authority, and perhaps even the Authority's death, but had never asked, and as Lyra hadn't yet told her, she felt it wasn't yet her place to do so. She assumed her mother would tell her more about it when the time was right. Further, it was of the utmost importance that the nature of the game never be revealed to an adult, let alone one's own parent, and certainly not someone who may have actually been involved in the original event, for fear of any number of reactions. Lyra fit all three descriptions.

Bella looked at Theo, who was equally speechless. Before they formed a response, Lyra jumped in to smooth things over.

"No, no, that's alright," she added quickly. "I won't pry, dear. So sorry. I'll be with the Costas today, if you need to find me. Be sure to meet me there no later than sundown."

The two children let out twin gasps of relief. Their daemons, who had been resting rigidly on each of their shoulders, now hopped nimbly at their feet. Bella's thoughts turned back to the business at hand.

"What time is it now, mother?" She didn't want to be late. She _couldn't _be late; she had a title to uphold.

Lyra pulled a pocketwatch from her coat's other breast pocket and checked the time.

"Nearly four o'clock, dear. When do you need to--"

"Nearly four? How soon till its four?" Bella realized the children were already beginning to gather. Four o' clock was the set start time; it always had been, and failure to arrive promptly meant immediate disqualification and forfeit from that year's round.

"It's ten of, Bella, but before you--"

"Let's hurry, Theo!" Bella grabbed him by the wrist, and the two took off again, even faster than they had for their warm-up race.

Lyra let out a contented sigh. "By sundown," she said to the two out-of-earshot children.

Five minutes later, Bella and Theo had reached the festivities. They were also out of breath, but that didn't hinder their enthusiasm.

"A little further this way," panted Bella.

Theo took in all that he could. The fair hadn't changed much over the years, as there wasn't much reason for it to change. The air was laden with a robust mixture of the scent of horses, burning oil, spices for trade, and the flowers of spring that hugged the edges of the river. The amount of goods the traders had to offer was affected by the weather, but other commodities increased in volume to balance things out. The river was brimming with narrowboats, asphalt boats, a few smaller barges here and there. As usual, the river could be crossed by stepping from vessel to vessel if one were ambitious enough, though the right spot would have to be carefully chosen, as some of the ships were not stationary. Carts were piled high with all manner of items – corn, smokeleaf, assorted textiles from the dye-works, dried meats and bottles containing exotic scented oils. And there were the horses. Theo had never seen so many in one place before. They stood assembled in small groups near various horsedealers' docked vessels, many stayed patiently in the stables, and some were on the boats themselves. Vendors of sweets made their way up and down the length of the river, winding forcefully through the thronging masses, selling toffee-covered apples and chocolatl and flaky cinnamon confections to whichever children had managed to scrape together enough coins for a purchase. Gyptian women deftly carried dry goods and caged hens in their overfilled arms, often with their older children assisting in the work, moving between their narrowboats and the trading tents on the riverbank, while gyptian men haggled over the quality of the wares and the fairest trade options. Other children bustled about (in groups of no fewer than three, by Theo's estimate), some singing, many laughing, and all very interested in their own secret plans.

Bella tapped Theo's shoulder. "Across the river, over there," she directed. Through the bodies she could just make out a burgundy-and-olive checked banner signifying the tent of the gyptian Festé family. Lyra and Bella had befriended the Festés some years ago, and Bella was friends with the two Festé children, Janetta and Marco, who were on her team the previous year and had secured turf rights for this year's affair.

Theo followed Bella to the end of a wharf where several dinghies were tied to mooring posts. "We'll take the white one," Bella said, as if she'd used it before. "We shan't try hopping across the boats…best not to rouse suspicion, you know?"

Theo knew he was definitely in for a treat today.

He and Bella climbed into the boat. They still had four minutes or so. It would be close. She realized she had no watch to tell time by; all she and Theo could do was move as quickly as possible. Fortunately they were located at the far end of the fair, and there were fewer boats at that point of the river, making for a straight shot to the other side.

"I'll take the left oar," she ordered, as if carrying out a well-conceived military operation. In some respects, it was: if they weren't able to negotiate the terrain of the playing field to even _get _to the start of the contest, what business did they have taking part in it?"

"Here we go," Theo said, intrigued by the way the day was unfolding. The two children paddled the boat's oars vigorously, in perfect sync with the other, moving them swiftly across the river. There was no wharf or dock for them to moor the boat at on the other side, but Bella knew of a partially hidden sapling where they could tie up the boat.

Once on the opposite shore, the children pressed through the crowds until they reached the Fest's tent. Janetta was waiting at the front flap, her daemon Riki flapping expectantly as a sand piper.

"Bella!" Janetta cried. "You're here at last!"

Bella was pleased to see Janetta too, but there was little time for pleasantries. A proper greeting would have to wait.

"How soon till they—"

"It's just about to start. Wait here."

Janetta poked her head into the tent and said something to someone with an adult female voice. She got a satisfactory response and emerged from the tent.

"Let's hurry," she said.

The two children followed Janetta Festé along an otherwise imperceptible path known only to a select number of gyptian children. They scrambled through old pine shipping crates, between high shrubs that bordered the edge of the tents, through covered wagons emptied of their wares. Finally, and without a moment to spare, they arrived.

They found themselves behind an old livery stable that had been converted into a reserve coal shed for use in the winter. No one manned the shed in the spring, and its large eaves made for a perfect hiding spot.

Beneath the far end of the shed's overhang stood a group of nearly twenty children, separated into two smaller groups – one side gyptian, the other side urchins and townies from and around Jordan College. Between them, standing authoritatively on a wide tree stump, was Janetta's older brother Marco Festé. He too was on Bella's team last year. Calliope, Marco's daemon, sat perched on the stump's edge, regally eyeing the other children in the form of a large calico cat.

One of Authority's other spoils of victory is that the captain of the previous year's winning team (that would be Marco) comes up with the structure of the game for the next year. This usually meant that they would not compete themselves, but would officiate the game and see that the rules were followed as they'd designed them. It did make for an inherent advantage over any challengers, but that only made the need to win all the more important.

Marco smiled briefly at Bella, but recovered immediately. He had to maintain his air of dominance.

"I nearly had to count you out, Bella Jeffries," decried Marco, putting on a show of bravura for the gathered children. "Who is that with you?"

"This is Theo Balfour, Marco. He just moved to Oxford."

Marco raised an eyebrow. "Oxford?"

Bella wished she hadn't said anything. Where one lived automatically determined who was on what side, though Bella was the exception to the rule; she and her mother did not live with the gyptians, but they had known gyptian families for so long that many of the gyptian children accepted her as one of them. She was always on the gyptian team. It was fortunate for the other team, though, since adding Theo to their team now made it ten against ten.

"A townie, is he? You know what that means. Theo?"

Theo stepped forward. He wasn't sure if something good or bad was about to happen.

"You'll be on the Oxford team, with them." He pointed to the assemblage of urchins and children of college servants, many of them grubby and mussed, a few with sticky chocolatl stains around their mouths. But they all had a look of dire seriousness, belying their naïfish appearances. Winning was on their minds.

Bella took a quick glance at the team that Theo was to join. She recognized a few of them: there was Lionel Parslow, whose father Simon was childhood friends with her mother; a girl named Alsacia, who was the daughter of cooks at Gabriel College; and Max Goddard, a boy who claimed he was descended from a long line of Scholars of Oxford but could never prove it.

"If that's what I'm to do," accepted Theo. He gave a sharp little nod to Bella, as if to say he relished the fact that they would go head to head in competition. Bella nodded back, reciprocating the feeling. Theo stood with the other children and quietly introduced himself.

Bella stood with her gyptian teammates, all of whom she'd known for some time. There was of course Janetta and Marco, and Victor Torrino – he was usually the team captain, whenever Marco wasn't – as well as Richie Costa, the son of Lyra's friend Tony Costa. Her mother had told her about Richie's uncle Billy, and how he'd been taken by the Gobblers when they were children. Bella had always admired her mother for trying to find him and the others who'd been taken.

Janetta noticed how Bella was looking at Theo. She gave her a playful nudge.

"Wish he were on our team?" The subtext of the question was not lost on Bella.

"Um…well…he is a good friend…and…no, no, it's fine." Bella blushed again. Marco stamped his foot a few times to get the children's attention.

"Is everyone here?" he asked. He surveyed the crowd. He secretly wished he could move Theo over to his own team now, since the odds were now evened up. But rules were rules, and not even he could reverse them.

"Good then," he went on. "I'll start with the main rules, so no one forgets them." No one ever did forget them, but it was part of the ritual.

"Rule one: winner gets turf rights next year. Rule two: If you're caught by an adult, your team loses. Rule three: Your team loses if you decide to stop playing. Rule four: You got to follow the rules _in order_, or your team loses. We all clear?"

The two teams showed they understood.

Now came the good part – how the game would be played. Its basic structure always involved retrieving an object (representing the Authority) from a predetermined location, and it was the job of each team to "free" it. Once the object was in their possession, they would have to return to the starting point with it, and perform an additional task. It wasn't enough that you simply retrieved the object; that would be far too easy.

"Here are the instructions." The children crowded closer, making sure not to miss anything. "First, each team will—"

"Each team will what?"

The voice that spoke came from behind the shed. The children and their daemons were all on their guard. Who'd found them? It didn't sound like an adult, though…

The source of the voice made himself visible. "Go on, gyptian, what's the game this year?"

Marco and the other children bristled in unison. They recognized him all right. He was Robert Kovacs, the eldest of the Brick Burners' children.

Marco glared. "No one can play unless they're asked to."

Even when Lyra was a child, the Brick Burners' children were the common foe of the urchins and the gyptian children. The battle of the claybeds had been epic and legendary, but it was only just a _battle_, and the war continued on with their own children. Some things hadn't changed.

"But I know the rules," Robert coyly countered, showing a smarmily toothy grin. "You don't have to say them twice. Unless _they _need to hear them again." Robert pointed at the two teams. His daemon, Berta, growled antagonistically as a black pit bull.

The children's daemons were howling and screeching now. Marco's Calliope hissed mightily, batting a paw in Robert's direction. The children stood fast, though, knowing that a fight with against a single brick burner would be too easy and simply unfair, not to mention a serious delay of the game.

Bella stepped forward, with Ramses sweeping overhead as a menacing raven. "We know the rules by heart, Robert Kovacs!" She'd been in a battle or two with Robert, who rarely went anywhere without his younger siblings in tow. Where were they, she wondered?

She didn't have to wonder long. From behind the shed stepped the rest of his party, and it was more than just his brothers and sister. All the Kovacs children were there – Freddie, Alastair, Thom, and Lucia – and so were the Straussen boys, who were all very large and strong for their ages; there was Josef Straussen, the oldest, and the twins Arte and Piter. They all seemed surprisingly clean, but their faces carried expressions of grim intent.

Marco stood firm. "No good, Robert. You only got eight. You wouldn't have a chance. And, you came late. Go home."

The enemies laughed. "We're not leaving, unless you make us leave. And I don't think you'll be able to do that." He may have been right; even though the brick burner children were outnumbered nearly three to one, they were all very strong and far more ruthless than the other children. Marco knew this. They'd have no choice.

"No matter," he carried on. "I don't see you winning this year anyway." Calliope stood down and rested at Marco's side.

"We'll see to that," Bella chimed in. She caught a glance at Theo, who seemed more than a little apprehensive about what was happening. Would his parents approve of this, he wondered? He saw her looking at him, and their eyes met. She smiled at him confidently, letting him know that no matter who won that day, things would be all right. He replied with a smile of his own.

Marco resumed his speech, not looking at the brick burner children but keeping his attention on them all the same. "Has each team chosen a captain?" Captains had to be pre-chosen and then declared before they could proceed. Marco could either declare himself the captain, or choose a new one on the spot.

"We have," said Lionel Parslow. "We choose Alsacia." Marco nodded.

"Me," interjected Robert Kovacs. He said nothing else.

"And as for our team," Marco went on, "I choose Bella Jeffries."

Bella's head snapped in Marco's direction. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. She looked at Victor, who appeared a little surprised himself. If he was disappointed, though, he didn't show it.

"M-me? I'm…I'm the captain?" She was both flattered and terrified. It was a great honor to be chosen as captain, but a tremendous responsibility. She was certainly old enough to lead a team, and she'd been on winning teams before, but she didn't feel comfortable enough with her experience to take charge.

The other children looked to her, seemingly pleased by the surprise decision. Why hadn't Marco chosen Victor? He didn't have to justify his decision, however; what was done was done. All Bella could think of was that if his team lost to the brick burners, Victor wouldn't want to be held responsible for the loss. That wasn't in Marco's character at all, though. What was he thinking?

"As I was saying before," Marco continued, "Here's how it will go. First, you have to make your way to the other end of the fairgrounds, about a half-mile downriver. On the other side are the Costa's tents."

Bella's heart nearly stopped beating. _Costa's tents?_ She and Richie Costa exchanged glances. That was a bit too close for comfort. There was the fact that her mother would be with the Costas, not to mention the fact that doing anything to upset the adults in the Costa family, particularly the old but fearsome Ma Costa, was like wearing a suit of metal outdoors during an anbaric storm. You were simply asking for trouble. Was Marco meaning to sabotage their chances? Surely not. Perhaps he knew that Bella and Richie could turn a seeming obstacle into an advantage…but nothing could be said until Marco was finished with his instructions.

"Get there any way you can, as fast as you can. There are hen cages around the back of the main tent. Inside is one of their biggest hens. It's white all over with a few black feathers on the tail. That's the Authority. There are a few that look a bit like it, but not exactly."

The children murmured some more. They knew that hens weren't the quietest of animals when threatened, nor the stillest of animals when one tries to take them.

Bella looked over to Theo in desperation. Now she wasn't sure if she wanted to go through with this. He glanced at her again, smiling. She didn't want to show how concerned she was, so she smiled back once more and pretended that everything was fine.

Marco went on. "Be sure to get the right hen. I'll know which one it is. You can hide the hen once you've got it, but you can't get caught. Not by the Costas, not by anyone. After that is done, you'll come back here. That's the first part."

He pulled a red-and-blue-dyed scarf from his back pocket and showed it to the competitors. He jumped off the stump and stepped toward a large metal door in the back wall of the shed. He tied the scarf to the handle of the door, securing it with an impossibly difficult knot. The handle was attached to the door at two ends, so the scarf could not be removed by simply sliding it off.

"Bring the Authority back here to the shed. When you do, you will have to take the scarf off the handle, and tie it to one of its legs. But you have to untie it from the handle. Cut it, or tear it, or anything else…your team loses."

The children began to fidget. This was shaping up to be one of the more challenging contests in quite a while.

"That's the end of part two," he informed them. He leapt back up onto the stump, savoring the moment. Now, the finale.

"Once you've done _that_, you'll have to take the Authority with you and climb to the top of the observation mast on the corn tanker that's closest to the shed." The children didn't have to guess at which tanker he meant. It was the only one with an observation mast could be seen over the top of the shed from where they stood. It was docked on their side of the river, easy to access from the shore…but would be bustling with activity well into the late evening.

Marco was nearly finished. "When you're at the top of the mast, tie one end to the leg of the Authority, and the other end of the scarf to anything you can find up there. Pluck a feather from the Authority. After that, grab an ear of corn off the tanker. Come back here and wait by the stump. Whoever's got both the feather _and_ ear of corn, wins. I'll be here to call the winner.

"And that's all there is to it," he concluded. "Now you can speak."

The children were buzzing with anticipation. They were already devising various strategies, but knew they had to subdue their excitement for a few minutes more. Now was the time when they could see what strategies they could and could not execute, and clear up anything that didn't make sense to them.

Arte Straussen spoke up. "Anyone could just get the feather, and grab some corn and come right back here. That doesn't sound fair."

The girl Alsacia had an answer for that. "Don't be a dunce, brick burner! We could check to see if there was a hen on top of the mast."

"Exactly," Marco said.

Then Theo had a question. "What happens to the losing team?"

All the children giggled knowingly, even the brick burners. He decided their ominous laughter was enough of an answer.

"You won't know that until you lose," one of his teammates added.

"Hold on, then!" Thom Kovacs stepped forward. "I know what happens. Loser gets thrown the mud or covered in something dreadful. How's the one team that wins expect to do that to the other _two_ that don't?"

No one had thought of that. No one ever had to before, since there'd never been more than two teams playing at a time. If the Kovacs' and the Straussens lost, for example, the rest of the children would instinctively band together to exact their penalty, but the rules would not allow it. There was a long, tense silence as the young minds worked feverishly to come up with an adequate solution.

Bella fought to contain her frustration. _You made it a problem by showing up, you dirty fools!_

"I have a thought of what to do," she offered. If she was to be an effective team captain, this was as good a time as any to show some leadership.

"Whichever of the two last teams that makes it back here, the _very_ last will be the loser, and the second place team help the first place team out. But the second placers can only have five on their team next year."

Most of the children found this an amenable solution, even the brick burner children. Victory would be all the sweeter, now that there were not one but two unsavory fates to avoid.

A gyptian boy named Carlo spoke up. "But if there's only one Authority, and one scarf, how can there be a second and third place team?" Another consideration no one had thought of. Marco had an answer for that.

"New rule. Your team must be the first back with the corn and the feather. However, even if your team wasn't the one to tie the Authority to the mast." Everyone knew what that meant: not only did you have to be quick enough to complete a task, but you had to keep the other children from taking advantage of what your team had already accomplished. There could be some fighting involved, but hopefully nothing too serious.

"Here." Marco tore off a piece of the scarf, still very long, and tied it to the handle as well. Now there were two scarves. "A team only needs untying one of them. This way, whomever doesn't get a scarf will most likely be in last place." He looked visibly exasperated. "Anything else?" No one spoke.

Marco addressed the crowd. "All in favor of these rules?" Nearly all the children cheered their approval, and the scant dissenters did their best not to be noticed.

"It's set, then. Meet with your teams. You have 'til six o'clock."

The children and their daemons moved away from the shed and staked out even more secluded locations where they could formulate their plans. Marco approached Bella and took her aside from the other gyptian children. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered.

"Victor was going to be the captain again until Robert showed up."

Bella was still puzzled. He went on.

"I picked you for two reasons," he whispered. "One, I know you can lead us to another victory."

Bella was flattered, but still nervous. "And the other reason?" she asked.

"Robert Kovacs hates it when he's beaten by girls. Once the townies named Alsacia as team captain, I couldn't help but give Robert a double helping. Thought you could show him up something good." With that, Marco returned to the stump, keeping an eye out for anyone who shouldn't be there. Six o'clock would be upon them soon.

"I do hope Ma Costa is well enough to see me," Lyra said to Pantalaimon. "It's been only a few months since I last saw her, but I've heard she's been worsening."

"If there's anyone who can be strong, it's her," Pan reassured.

Lyra arrived at the Costa's narrowboat. It was docked at the far end of the fairgrounds, near their trading tents. It was the same boat she'd raided and "threatened" to sink many years ago. Ma Costa's children and grandchildren had taken good care of the magnificent vessel over the years, as their father Tony Costa had taught them the necessary maintenance techniques. Its wood still gleamed with the same expertly-applied lacquer finish it had since it first took to water.

Lyra rapped on the door. One of Ma Costa's grandsons, Sammy, greeted her.

"Hello, Sammy," Lyra said warmly. "How have you been?"

"Miss Jeffries! Welcome, welcome. You've come to see my grandmother, have you?"

"Yes. Is she in?"

"She ain't on the boat today, Miss Jeffries. I'll take you to her."

The young man led the way back up the dock and to the riverbank. Lyra felt he looked rather like Billy Costa would have if he'd reached his early twenties.Lyra always given pause whenever she came across him.

They reached the family tent, which was double the size of any other tent at the fair. He unfastened the flap and showed them inside.

"Paula'll be with you, Miss Jeffries." Paula was Ma's granddaughter and Sammy's sister. He returned to the narrowboat where a few traders were already waiting to discuss a prospective deal.

Lyra scanned the interior. Most of the other tents had two separate chambers at most; the Costa's tent had four, including an auxiliary tent for small livestock in the rear connected by an elongated canvas awning. There was the entry chamber where Lyra was presently, and this entered into the others through three more flaps. The flaps to the right and left opened into storage areas, while the center flap led to the barter room. This was where some of the more complex transactions took place and where most of the transaction records were stored. It also doubled as a day room and resting area for Ma Costa, who was waiting inside for Lyra.

"Is that Lyra Belacqua I hear?" she half-hollered, cheerfully. Lyra was pleased to hear Ma use her old last name. She could hear the age in Ma Costa's voice, but her unflagging spirit remained. "Don't dawdle, Paula, let her in!"

Paula appeared from behind the middle flap. "Welcome, Mrs. Jeffries. So good to see you again. Please, enter."

Lyra and Paula held each other's hands as they greeted one another. "Paula! What a beauty you've become!" She turned to Ma Costa. "Am I daydreaming, or has she grown since last I saw her?" Paula turned away with polite bashfulness as her fox daemon sat quietly in the corner.

"Like river weeds, they are," Ma Costa said. "But good children, all of them. Come sit, Lyra."

Lyra got a full look at Ma Costa, and she felt a little shock. She'd only just seen the woman earlier that year, and had been as hale and feisty as ever…but now she seemed somehow smaller, and less powerful than she'd ever seen her in all her life. Inevitable, perhaps, but affecting nonetheless. Lyra wasn't sure for a moment what to say, but knew the best thing to do was treat her no differently than she had before.

Paula brought forth a small plush seat for Lyra. She thanked Paula and settled at the old woman's side. Ma Costa reclined on an elaborately crafted settee made of stiff woven wicker and upholstered with ornately-patterned felt covering. Her old hawk daemon perched comfortably on the back of an adjacent chair. It hopped down to the dirt floor to greet Pantalaimon, as the two daemons nuzzled one another, beak to snout.

She looked around Ma's chamber. Small window flaps in the tent's roof and high up along the sides allowed for views of the evening sky, as well as a healthy breeze to blow through freely.

"I hope the young ones aren't keeping you in here against your will," Lyra said.

"Rubbish! Tony had a wish I'd stay back home, but I'd have none of it. Paula takes me on a short walk here an' again, just to keep the body a little sharper for a little longer. It ain't ideal, child, but it'll do."

Paula reentered and handed Lyra and Ma Costa two glasses of cool mint tea. After a sip, Ma touched Lyra's face with a sturdy wrinkled hand. "Has it only been months, child? Seems only the other day you was visitin' us in the Fens. O'course, it seems like years and years all the same. Funny, that."

Lyra nodded. "It has gone by quickly. My work at St. Mary's takes up much of my time, though I enjoy every minute of it."

"It's a lucky soul who loves what they does, and does what they love. And to here you speakin' so proper, my girl! Just as it seemed a day ago that you was an urchin, speakin' as such, now you've got the tongue of a proper schoolmarm."

Lyra blushed needlessly. "There's still a bit of urchin in me, Ma, if not in the way I speak, but in spirit."

Ma smiled as she smoothed out a wrinkle on her cloting. "You've done a good life's work, my dear. You ought to be mighty proud then."

"I am pleased with my accomplishments, but I don't take too much pride in them. The benefits of my work aren't solely meant for me."

In the months after Lyra had said good-bye to Will, she began her studies at a new boarding school for girls established by Dame Hannah Relf. Dame Hannah told her should could study the alethiometer with her help, and make it part of her life's work if she so chose. This was a decision that took longer for Lyra to settle on than she had expected. She had at first thrilled to the idea of regaining the knowledge that she had once possessed by grace, but wasn't sure if she could muster the patience to do so. It had been an ability that had touched her deeply and she hesitated to revisit it, as one sometimes hesitates visiting an old lover who has since become only a friend. Dame Hannah had several books and resources with which to help her, and could even use the alethiometer herself as she helped Lyra, but the sheer amount of texts that existed on its study made the path that lay before her seem all the more daunting. But she gave it more time, and more thought, and remembered that it was her job to help make the world a better place in the best way she could, to 'make heaven where she was,' as Will's father John Parry had once instructed**_._** She knew she'd be able to at least gain some level of ability while she studied, and could use what little she'd gleaned from the alethiometer to perhaps help in her efforts to build the Republic of Heaven. Her only task now was to create a blueprint for its construction.

With the money that had been saved for her as a child by the faculty of Jordan College, Lyra had no need for want. But Lyra rejected the idea of using the money to create an opulent lifestyle for herself, though the temptation to do so was undeniable. She felt the money would be best used in two complimentary capacities: a sizable portion of the funds would be set aside for any children she would perhaps have one day, and another portion would be used for humanitarian and philanthropic purposes: donations to charities, repair and construction of learning facilities, and even a scholarship fund for promising Jordan College and St. Sophia's College students. Give people the greatest chance to better themselves, she felt, and the world might become a better place.

Five years after she'd begun her studies, Lyra, now a young adult, was nearing graduation. She had worked toward a teaching degree, hoping to someday teach at either St. Sophia's or another school (she'd ambitiously considered starting her own school someday). She'd intended on teaching general studies: mathematics, experimental theology, proper grammar and language skills, and so on, just as the instructors at her own school had done. She had also made great progress in her alethiometer studies, and many of her financial contributions yielded the positive results she'd hoped for. But she felt as if there were more she could do. Something that would have an even greater impact than her already beneficial accomplishments. But what?

One day, during one of Dame Hannah's alethiometer sessions, a question sprang into her mind: _Do I now know enough about the alethiometer to teach how to read it?_ Certainly not as much as Dame Hannah knew, but she knew far more than anyone else her age, or anyone of any age for that matter. Of course she could! Why hadn't she seen it before? And it wasn't just that she could, but she _wanted _to; she'd wanted to teach, because this was her special talent, as well as her life's study, and above all, it was an ability that enabled one to know the truth. What could be more noble a goal than that? What better way to help build the Republic of Heaven? She asked Dame Hannah about the possibility of shifting her studies to include preparations for eventually earning a certification for conducting her own alethiometer studies. Dame Hannah thought it a wonderful idea, and obliged. Two years later, Lyra began teaching the alethiometer at St. Sophia's to any young women who wanted to learn. She found that _teaching_ how to use the alethiometer helped her to learn more about it as well.

Several years after that, and using her money and stature within the educational community, Lyra established her own boarding school near Jordan College, with herself as the headmistress. At the age of thirty, she was one of the youngest headmistresses of a boarding school in all of Anglia. She named it St. Mary's School for Young People – the name was a partial nod to her old friend Mary Malone, who years ago had revealed profound truths to her in their short time knowing one another. It was like other boarding schools in many respects, but with two key differences: it featured an alethiometer-intensive course unmatched by any that had come before it, and, perhaps most divergent from tradition, was a co-educational school – the first of its kind in all of Anglia. Ideas and values had changed enough over time, though, that the idea of such a school was not only accepted but welcomed. Young men and women did not share classrooms though, but both could study in separate classes taught by Lyra herself. Theo Balfour was one such student at her school, though Bella was not; she attended St. Sophia's just as Lyra had. She felt it was important that Bella receive her education from an institution other than her own in order to keep her role as mother intact without the additional role of academic instructor.

"You've done well with Bella, I've heard," Ma said to Lyra. "Such a beautiful young woman. Like her mother, she is." Lyra blushed slightly. "Is she seeing any boys?"

Lyra loved how Ma Costa always got right to the point. "Yes. Young Theo Balfour, a student at St. Mary's. He's not in any of my classes, but he's a bright pupil. He seems to be Bella's first crush. He came along today at Bella's request."

"Ah, so that's where Bella is right now."

"She and Theo are off playing that game the children play these days… 'Authority,' I think it's called? Bella's played it for some time now. I get the idea she doesn't want me knowing too much about it."

"All children have their secrets."

"Of course, Ma. I played many games once upon a time, you may recall," Lyra said warmly.

"Damn near sank my boat too!" laughed Ma Costa, remembering Lyra's own inept childhood attempt to commandeer the Costa's grand narrowboat.

Ma leaned closer to Lyra. "Does young Bella know all about what you had to do with the real business with the Authority?"

"She has some idea, but I'm going to wait till she's a little older. There are some other things in life she needs to discover first."

"Such as that young Theo."

Lyra nodded.

"Young love," mused Ma.

"Yes." Lyra looked away for a moment. She was so happy for Bella, happy her daughter had many opportunities that she herself did not have at the same age. Lyra was a little sad for herself as well. She silently scolded herself for feeling that way.

Ma saw her words had some effect on Lyra. "Sorry, dear. Didn't mean to…"

"It's alright. Just pleased for her."

"As well you should, dear."

Lyra thought for a moment. "I think that's why I made St. Mary's open to both girls and boys. They still have separate classes, but there is time where they can interact with one another. I just felt that that interaction at that age…it could be an enriching experience. Something you can't teach in any classroom."

Ma beamed at Lyra. "And the Republic of Heaven continues to blossom."

Lyra stood and raised herself onto her tiptoes, catching a glace of the steady stream of fairgoers through the tent's high windows. She knew her work with the school was the right place to start, but her need to do more perpetually nagged her. It was a _start_, but that was all. She wanted to change things now. Do more _now._ And _now_ was in its twenty-fifth year, and she still felt she was only just beginning her life's work. She'd sometimes wished she had a few more lives to use, just for her quest.

"There seem to be so many impossible obstacles to scale, Ma," Lyra admitted. She didn't show her worry often, but Ma was someone she could let her guard down in front of. "So many of the things we said we'd do…or we'd at least _try _ to do…"

"Like what, dear?"

"For instance. Will and I promised to let everyone know, in each of our worlds, that when they die and enter the Land of the Dead, to tell the harpies the true stories of their lives once they died. So that the harpies will help them to find peace. Well, I've told everyone I could – friends, family, even fellow college administrators and scholars – but not everyone believes in the Land of the Dead, let alone the harpies. And I've not been sure how to spread the message any farther."

"Well, child, that's the way of things. You can't make everyone believe everything."

Lyra nodded grudgingly. "True. But I don't know what's been happening to the harpies and the souls of the dead since then. Perhaps that's what's been eating away at me. Hopefully the harpies know that not everyone will tell them the truth…but that I've tried. Perhaps that will be truth enough?"

"Perhaps so, dear. And you_ have _tried."

"I was so young and full of enthusiasm, and felt if I put my heart and mind into it enough, it would all happen the way I'd hoped it would."

"You've made people see things they never thought were true before, or even possible. There's good in that."

"I don't know…there are many that aren't happy with what I've shown them. Many are still angry. You don't see them speak of it often, but they are out there. Their feelings are just beneath the surface."

"Don't fear, my child."

"I try not to. But there are those out there who…well…I don't want to think about it."

Lyra paused. She thought of how Will was doing. Was he doing any better than she had? His world was far less receptive to such things as daemons and angels and harpies…had he made any progress?

"You're thinking of him, aren't you." Ma knew she was referring of Will, and Lyra knew she knew.

"Yes," she said.

A lump caught in Lyra's throat. She took a large gulp of tea, but it had no effect. She could feel hot tears returning to her eyes. Wordlessly she excused herself from Ma's chamber and went to the front flap. She hoped Paula wouldn't see her this way, but Paula thankfully wasn't in the front; she must have been on the boat. She felt ashamed to hide herself from Ma like this, but she needed a moment alone.

Lyra closed the flap and stood outside the tent. The sun was still high in the sky but had begun its long descent, and the air had a pre-evening coolness. And somewhere, she knew, Bella is having fun with Theo.

_I miss when Daniel and I would come here._ Bella was only three years old when Daniel passed away and didn't remember the visits she and her parents made to the fair. Lyra wondered what it would be like if she and Daniel were children as well, playing secret games and waging battles, without a care in the world.

_I wonder what it would have been like if Will and I…_

_Stop thinking about him!_ Would he always enter her thoughts when thinking of Daniel? Was he somehow thinking of me in his own world, insinuating himself into my mind? Will had been appearing in her thoughts more and more as of late. Why? Why now? Things are finally getting settled again. Things were going well. Bella was growing up wonderfully. St. Mary's was strong and well-respected. Things weren't perfect, but they were comfortable.

Maybe that was why. Things were _too _comfortable. Nothing more to look forward to except her work. Nothing to distract her from the thoughts she dare not speak of. Of course Will had always been on her mind, even after she'd met Daniel. She'd still visited their bench in the Botanical Garden every year on Midsummer Day, but she limited her thoughts of him – her conscious thoughts, anyway – to that one day of the year. At least, that's what she'd tricked herself into thinking.

What did all of this mean? Was there nothing left for her to do in life? Simply maintain what she'd already created? Impossible. She wanted to do more in building the Republic. But what else could she do? Was there nothing left to yearn for?

Only what she couldn't have. And that was Will.

She look down at her feet and saw more snakeshead fritillaries. Daniel came back into her mind. _How awful am I, to dishonor his memory with such thoughts?_ But it wasn't dishonoring, she knew that. It didn't mean she cared for Daniel any less, but it certainly felt that way.

Ma made her way up to Lyra, timeworn cane in one hand, her daemon perched on her shoulder. Lyra was shocked to see the old woman walking alone.

"Should you be up by yourself?" Lyra asked.

"Pay no mind to me," Ma said. "My body does what it does when I want it to. I can get around more ably than I let on, you see. When I'm tired, I'll rest. I've rested plenty today."

Lyra smiled.

"What's on your mind, dear?"

Thoughts of Will. Thoughts of Daniel. How Daniel liked coming to the Horse Fair. How he'd come to her so unexpectedly. How tragically she'd lost him. Or was it Will she was thinking of in that respect? Both. It was both.

"Daniel," she finally said. "I feel torn. I want to forget him, to move on. But I feel if I do…"

"It's hard, child. Such as it as with any loved one."

"It was different somehow with Will." _Ah yes, _Ma Costa thought. _Not just Daniel she's thinking of._

Lyra went on. "We'd never…we'd only been together for such a short time. We were children. It was so painful, but with Daniel…"

"You had more time with him than Will."

"Yes! We'd spent so much time together. Years together, married. But somehow…being with Will…it was no less profound than all the time I'd spent with Daniel. In fact, you could even say…no, I shouldn't think that."

And than it hit her. She couldn't admit it, not even to herself. She didn't want to. It couldn't be true. What a terrible thing to think.

"Will was your first love, dear. No shame in never loving another as much as him."

Ma could see what she was thinking. Lyra wept openly. Pantalaimon leapt into her arms and she stroked him. She felt like a young girl all over again. "I can't help it, Ma. I cared for Daniel so much. I _loved _him, didn't I?"

Ma put a hand on her shoulder. "Of course you did, dear." She let Lyra finish the thought.

Lyra looked up at her. "But I wasn't…_in love_ with him. I wanted to be. I so badly wanted to be."

Ma nodded. "You did no wrong by him, nor yourself, dear. Never think otherwise. Not even now. No use tying yourself up in knots over it. Will you ever forget Daniel? Mayhap so, mayhap not. Either way, whichever happens, it will be how you deal with his memory. How you move on. And _that's _what's most important, dear. Honor him by living your life. You have so much to live for."

Lyra knew she was right. It was all so confusing, her feelings of guilt and loneliness mingling together. She wasn't sure what she'd been pained by until now.

"I know I do," Lyra said. "You're right. Thank you, Ma. I just didn't see it before."

"Even with all your alethiometer studies?" chided Ma.

Lyra laughed. "I suppose I never brought myself to ask it the right questions."

"Some questions aren't meant to be asked until they're _ready_ to be asked, child. That's all."

Lyra sat on the cool grass outside the tent, stroking Pantalaimon. There was something else, though. Something about Will she still couldn't shake.

"I do know what it is to be in love, though," Lyra said. "I just wish I could be in love again."

"Why's that, dear? Be sure it's for the right reason."

Lyra knew what Ma meant. It wasn't that she simply wanted to be in love; she wanted to be in love with _someone else – not Will. _She wanted to forget _him._ Or did she?

"I've visited our bench every year, Ma," Lyra went on. "I've kept the promise. It hasn't always been easy. Some years it was wonderful. But when Daniel came along…it changed. Once I married him, visiting the bench became no different than an old acquaintance. But eventually, it was like visiting a gravesite. Speaking with someone you'd never see again. I even considered laying flowers there for him. Isn't that something? Not to treat him as if he were dead, mind you. But just as an expression of… of love, I suppose. Of remembrance. Or maybe I was trying to pretend he were dead? Perhaps there's a part of me that wants to feel that way, but only just a part of me. Just so there'd be a sense of finality." _But shouldn't I have already felt some finality? Even after all this time?_

Lyra started crying harder. "Then Daniel died. Now I had _two_ places to visit." Lyra didn't have to explain. Ma knew that Daniel, per his wishes, was cremated, his ashes spread over the Isis River. At the site of the spreading, near the riverbank, a gravestone was erected in his memory.

"There's something I never told anyone, not even Bella," she continued. "The year before Daniel died, I didn't go to my and Will's bench. I couldn't, could I? I was tending to Daniel, just _waiting _for him to die, and I knew he needed me. I wanted to…to 'talk'to Will, as I often did, just to explain what I was going through. I'd often imagine what he'd say, thinking of things he'd tell me to comfort me.

"But the year after Daniel died…I couldn't bring myself to visit his gravestone. I just couldn't. The pain was too great. I tried to, but I simply couldn't. And it was then, only then, that I started visiting the bench again. Isn't _that_ ironic? I had it all backwards, didn't I? I ran there and wept for hours, pouring my heart out to someone who wasn't even there. And it wasn't _Daniel_ I was saying these things to, it was Will. It should have been Daniel."

"There's nothing wrong with what you did, child," Ma said. She laid her free hand on Lyra's head, caressing her hair. "It's perfectly understandable. You were in love with Will. And even to this day, it sounds like you still are, at least a part of you. What of it? Sometimes, there are those in life you'll always feel that way about. You may feel like you shouldn't, you may feel like you're a terrible person for holding on to such thoughts and feelings, but there it is. It's who you are. And there's nothing to do about it. And what's more, there's nothing wrong with it, either. It's meant to be, ain't it? Time may take away the feeling, or perhaps it will preserve it. Your love for him ain't a bad thing. It didn't make you weaker, it made you stronger. It made you a better person. And you ain't dishonoring Daniel by feeling how you do about Will. You was all that Daniel had. You made his life bearable, dear… nay, more than bearable! You made it worth living again, even if he had only a short time left. Hear me when I say that you've done more good for the people of this world than anyone before or since. And that's the truth, by my life, it is."

Soaked with tears, Lyra looked up into Ma Costa's kindly old face. Pantalaimon was still curled around Lyra's neck. Ma had also been weeping, though her voice hadn't shown it. Lyra took Ma's hand.

"Thank you," she said. "I just wasn't sure." Lyra was glad to have spoken with Ma about her feelings. She knew somehow that truths had been spoken by the old woman that not even the alethiometer could have answered.

"Let's come inside, dear," Ma said. "There's more to talk over."

Lyra picked herself and went back into the tent. She was glad she came.


	4. Quality Time

CHAPTER FOUR: QUALITY TIME 

The cruise ship Caronia was three days from Southampton, returning from a two-and-a-half week excursion. The ship made stops in Corfu, Ibiza and Lisbon as part of its "Jewels of the Mediterranean" cruise. It was a tour package that only the most financially well-off could afford. The Caronia offered all manner of lavish amenities – in-suite hi-def entertainment centers, a putting green, hair salon, massage therapists -- but still retained a dignified splendor many other cruise lines simply didn't offer. Each voyage carried far fewer passengers than the Caronia was designed to accommodate, ensuring that every tourist who spent their vacation on board it would have more than ample room to breathe.

Alec Parry, though, felt he was suffocating.

The young man leaned his elbows on the smooth railing that girded the Caronia's verandah deck. He had taken off his sandals, feeling the equally smooth teak wood of the deck's surface under his feet. The weather was mild and uninteresting that afternoon. He daydreamed of requisitioning one of the Caronia's lifeboats in the dead of night, setting off to find an mystical tropical island populated entirely by attractive native girls and maybe a pirate or two.

He wanted off that bloody cruise ship.

A pair of headphones clung to his neck, and those were attached to a digital music player in Alec's pocket. He slipped the phones onto his ears and reached into his pocket, feeling for the random play button. He didn't care which of the thousand or so songs stored in the player would come up first. He just wanted to distract himself. More than anything, he didn't want to speak to his father, Will Parry, who was more than certainly looking for him.

He would need to hide again, and was running out of new hiding places. He left his present location in search of more secluded environs. He had tried hiding out in some of the busier parts of the ship – a few of the onboard restaurants, and in one of the seating areas of the ship's cabaret shows – but he was either thrown out or quickly found by his father. Alec didn't want to resort to hiding in cramped, uncomfortable places, but if he wanted to be successful, he'd need to get creative.

Alec approached the outdoor pool area. A few people were splashing and sunning themselves, while others soaked in an adjacent Jacuzzi. He'd been there a few times during the trip; he tried hiding _in_ the pool once, underwater, attempting to hold his breath for several short intervals to keep out of sight of his father. Alec wasn't even sure if Will was looking for him, but he went through the entire trip acting as if his father was. 

_Too many people here, _Alec thought. _Can't be seen hiding. _That was something else to worry about. He knew his father had employed the help of the ship's hosts to search for him, and those hosts would ask the passengers if they'd seen a boy of his age. There were only a few other boys on board, and few matched Alec's physical description, so the chances of one of the them being mistaken for him were scant.

Alec nonchalantly fiddled with his music player, trying keep anyone from noticing him as he inched closer and closer to a deck chair storage area. He glanced around quickly, and pushed his way in. There was little hiding room in the cramped space, which was essentially a glorified closet outfitted with four dim service lights.

There wasn't much chance to move or sit for that matter, but Alec was determined. He tried finding a comfortable position, pressing his back up against the storage area's wall. He sank a bit, resting his knees on the soft padding of one of the folded deck chairs. He turned up the volume on his player and closed his eyes. He didn't care if his father was worried about him, or if his father had stopped looking altogether. He didn't care _how_ he'd be found either, since he knew he'd be found eventually. He just needed to be alone for a while.

"Alec Parry. He's my son. Twelve years old, dark hair, about this high." Will held his hand in front of one of the Caronia's hospitality hosts. This was the fourth time since they'd left Lisbon that Alec had gone missing, though Will was fairly hopeful that his son would turn up within the hour. He was just doing the responsible thing a father did whenever his preteen son couldn't be found when he wanted to speak to him.

"Sorry, Mr. Parry. Haven't seen the young man, but I'll spread the word and keep the eyes open."

Will half-smiled and half-frowned at the host, and nodded his appreciation. "Thank you. I'm sure he'll show eventually." The host gave Will a friendly, professional salute and left.

Will was on the other end of the boat from where Alec was, near the Caronia's bow. He and Alec had maintained a reasonable facsimile of civility for most of the cruise, and that was a major step for the both of them. The hostility, more often than not, went from Alec to Will, with the father weathering many of the son's outbursts and unkind words. Will knew he had to be patient with Alec, particularly on this trip. He knew Alec didn't like the idea of being stuck on a ship for the better part of a month with his _father, and no one else to talk to, and Will wasn't sure how to make his son feel better about it. But Will knew he had to take this trip with his son. He knew it wouldn't be the relaxing diversion it was for most passengers, and hadn't approached this trip as such a thing in the first place. If he was to make progress in his relationship with his son, he may as well tour the Mediterranean while doing it._

No, Will knew that his son would reveal himself whenever he was good and ready. He gave up the search and headed back to he and Alec's suite. It was the Caronia's Carmania Grand Suite, a two-level duplex on the bridge deck with separate private verandahs. Will offered to take the living room portion of the suite and sleep on the couches, but Alec felt Will's offer was just an obvious attempt to create the illusion of giving Alec some privacy. _How nice of him to sleep in the couch. Does he want me to feel sorry for him? Why didn't we just get separate rooms?_ Will purposefully booked them both in the same suite—he didn't want there to be _too _much distance between them. Alec resented whenever his father tried to please him with expensive gifts, but upon seeing just how luxurious his half of the suite would be, Alec didn't say another word.

Will swiped his keycard through the scanner on his suite's door, and entered once the scanner's light turned green. Will found his daemon Kirjava sunning herself on the private verandah that opened from Will's half of the suite. Much to Will's chagrin, there were many things he simply hadn't yet brought himself to tell Alec. One of those things was the concept of daemons; that everyone had a daemon, and how one learned to see their own. He'd wanted to tell Alec when he was younger, but, frankly, there had never been the right time to do it. At least, that's how Will felt. And it wasn't that he thought Alec was incapable of understanding, but rather, as felt told himself time and again, for reasons reasonable and questionable, there was never a good time. 

That would all soon change, though.

Will was planning on tell Alec all about daemons, and Lyra, and the angels, and the Authority, and the Land of the Dead – everything – and he planned to tell on this trip.

But, there were only a few days until they arrived in Southampton, and Will couldn't procrastinate forever.

 Will had left the sliding glass door open for Kirjava. His daemon was watching the spreading waves made by the grand ship's wake, wondering what it would have been like to be a fish or dolphin daemon, if only for a little while.

Kirjava heard Will enter and trotted inside. Will plopped down on the sofa, nearly sighing to the point of total deflation.  

"He'll turn up," Kirjava said to Will, as she nestled by his side.

"You sound as if I think he won't. He's only ever gone for a few hours, anyway."

"Admit it, Will. You're just a little afraid he'd go vanishing altogether, aren't you?"

"I fear the _thought _of such a thing, but the probability of it is something altogether different. There's only so many places he can be on this ship. I am a bit dismayed by the ineffectiveness of the Caronia's crack team of hospitality hosts in finding him."

Kirjava chuckled. "I don't believe they've had any detective training, have they?"

"I should have inspected their resumes before we came," he retorted. Will lay there, breathing deeply. He closed his eyes. "I've gone out of my way to give him room, Kirjava. I have, haven't I?"

"Without a doubt, Will. But if he wants to feel like he's being crowded, he'll turn anything you do into something that crowds him."

"Quite right, quite right." Will yawned. He was surprised at how exhausted he felt. Stress could deplete the body of energy, regardless of whatever additional stimuli the body is exposed to in the meanwhile. And Alec was depleting Will of his energy something fierce. "I told him this morning that I wanted to meet with him for dinner."

"Did he say yes?"

"He didn't say no. He just nodded, I think, and said something about going to the pool. Of course, I checked the pool a while later, and he wasn't there."

"Right."

Will scratched his chin. "I'm pretty sure he didn't say no."

All vacation, Will tried to strike the right balance between letting Alec alone and finding things for the two of them to do together. It hadn't always gone smoothly. While in Corfu, Alec told his father he wanted to go windsurfing. Will told him he was too young go it alone. Alec protested, of course, making quite a scene. Will knew Alec probably could have done it himself without adult supervision, but what sort of a father would allow such a thing? So the two were at a stalemate. With only five hours or so before the Caronia would disembark from the island, Will suggested they take a short cab ride to the Byzantine fortress of Aggelokastro north of Corfu, hoping Alec might find such a thing interesting. Alec declined. Will even offered to browse the various shops and sights near the port with him, buying him anything he liked. Alec  marched back to their suite on the Caronia, watching movies on his personal in-room entertainment center.

At present, Will hoped to meet with his son for dinner at the ship's Franconia Restaurant. Neither of them would have to say much to one another. Will wouldn't ask his son what he'd been up to, as he knew that would only irritate Alec further, and he wouldn't even scold him for going off like he did. Will only wanted to do _something _together that they both agreed to do, just so Will could say he'd tried and succeeded. And, maybe, if Alec wanted to open up a little, Will would be there to listen. But Will held out little hope for that. Trying to get his son at the same table as him would be challenge enough.

Alec, meanwhile, was losing his ambition to stay put. It was getting hot in there with the chairs and little air to breathe, and he'd heard all the songs on his player before. Grudgingly, he emerged from his hideout and ventured back onto the verandah deck.

Like his father and grandfather, Alec was a fellow whose interests and talents were diverse and plenty. Alec read assorted action and sci-fi novels, and liked football too (well enough to watch it on television, but not enough to try out for any school football team). He even had taken a liking to art in school – Will placed a few of Alec's best watercolors on the living room wall at home.  Alec also loved music, and had considered taking up an instrument, namely piano – until he discovered his father had played at one time.

He considered for a moment going to the ship's computer learning centre and browsing the internet, but you needed to check in to do that, and who knew how quickly he'd be found then? He decided instead to revisit the ship's library and book shop. He'd disappeared there a few times, and liked reading anyway. If his father found him there, at least he wouldn't be accused of wasting his time in an unconstructive fashion.

Alec hid behind a group of three women who were entering the library at the same time he was. He made sure not to look over at the library desk attendant, even though he was curious to see if he was being watched. He soon lost himself among the aisles of bookshelves, quickly grabbing an oversized book to hide behind once he'd found a seat. The large book he'd selected was full of illustrations of World War II aircraft. Alec wished there were a few books that size on a subject he was more interested in, but none were available. _Better find something to read while I'm behind this thing, he thought. Alec grabbed another book, this time an uncharacteristically dog-eared copy of _Speaker for the Dead _by Orson Scott Card. He'd read the first book in that series, __Ender's Game, earlier in the year, and had been meaning to read _Speaker_, the first sequel,for a while. Now was as good a time as any. Alec was struck by how tattered the book was, given the high standards he'd noticed in all areas of the ship. He found a corner of the library well-hidden from the main entry, and set about reading the one book as he hid behind the other. _

* * * * * * * * * *

Twenty fives earlier, in the weeks after saying good-bye to Lyra Belacqua in the Botanical Garden in Oxford, Will Parry and Mary Malone had many difficult decisions to make. Will retrieved his mother from kindly Mrs. Cooper, who said his mother hadn't been much trouble while he was away, and just where had he been all this time, but no, it wasn't any of her business, and Will thanked her for her time and took his mother home. Mary set about clearing up all of Will's difficulties with the local authorities, and then took stock of what remained of her research and her life. She and Will were now friends, and knew they would be for the rest of their days.

     Mary knew that Will would have difficulty taking care of his mother alone, young as he was, and that he'd need a functioning adult presence in his life. After a bit of discussion on the matter, and a lot of consideration, Will and Mary both felt it would be best if she moved in with him and his mother. The idea seemed a little awkward to Mary at first, but she reminded herself that she'd be spending much of her time talking with Will about their experiences, and, happily, she wouldn't have to pay much rent at the Parry house – certainly less than she'd been putting up each month for her own flat. There was plenty of room at the Parry house for her and her things, and above all, Mary didn't really want to be alone.

     One of the most important things that happened once she moved in with Will and Elaine was that Mary became a provisional legal guardian of Will, and only until he was legally an adult under British law. This was a necessity. After all, there'd be many instances where he would need to refer to an able-bodied and sound-of-mind adult figure for authorization to do certain things, and with Elaine in her present state, Mary filled the bill perfectly. Elaine didn't say much about it, but what little she did perceive of the arrangement, she didn't seem to mind. Somehow, she knew it was in Will's best interest.

     Mary felt sorry for Elaine. A pang of empathy went out for Will's mother the first time Mary laid eyes on her, seeing her confused stare and her loving gaze at Will. Mary promised to help his mother the best she could, all the while not entirely sure of how to proceed with her own future. On a certain level, Mary felt slightly inconvenienced by the arrangement, but felt guilty over such thoughts, and thought no more of it.

     Will was contemplating what to make of his own future, and how his mother and Mary would play a part in it. His task was to help build the Republic of Heaven in his own world, and the first thing he did was to clarify, for himself, exactly what that meant and how he would go about doing it.  The concept of the Republic of Heaven was a place where everyone lived in the here and now, living life to the fullest, treating everyone with kindness and respect and dignity, ensuring the best life possible for all. He remembered, too, that there were more specific responsibilities he had been entrusted with. One of them was telling as many people as he could about the Land of the Dead, and how it was important for everyone, after they died, to tell the true stories of their lives to the harpies they would eventually meet in the afterlife.     

     That, Will realized, would be one of the thornier aspects of his work. He thought about more practical methods of building the Republic.

     He felt that, no matter what course of action he'd take, something needed to be done that would benefit everyone in such a way that they wouldn't object to, or even realize, what he was trying to do. Will lived in a world that wasn't receptive to many of the commonplace aspects of Lyra's world; no daemons, no witches, no talking polar bears. No knowledge of Dust. Will's world was closed off to such things, and he knew that revealing even a little of it would be at best ignored and disbelieved, and at worst reviled and feared. What, then, would he do?

     Will and Mary took full advantage of the fact that no one from their world could see their daemons unless they were shown how. After Will had visited the Land of the Dead with Lyra, he'd finally encountered his daemon Kirjava in physical form. The journey through the Land of the Dead had endowed him and Lyra with the witch-like ability to be away from their daemon for long periods of time, and tolerate being separated by great distances if the situation called for it. Despite this ability, Kirjava accompanied Will most everywhere he went. Mary didn't have Will and Lyra's special ability, but it mattered little, as no one could see her daemon, either.  

     After going over what was needed to start his work on the Republic of Heaven, Will knew he would need to take care of his own life first. Take care of his mother. Go to school. See to his own needs. Was that being selfish? No, it was living in the here and now. Building the Republic of Heaven. The right way to start.  

     And all the time he was thinking these things, he was trying _not _to think of Lyra. He'd only just seen her a short time ago, felt her lips against his, stood there in the garden with her tears intermingling with his own. He knew it would be a while before he could think of other girls, and would thankfully be too busy for it anyway. 

     Will returned to school. He attended Westgate, a co-educational secondary in the town of Slough. He knew that his future, and his mother's future, depended on his success in school and beyond. He'd need to get a good job to support her. But he found, ironically, that her illness was becoming a serious distraction. 

     A year or so passed, and things hadn't improved. Elaine became confused more easily; her speech, when she _did speak, was disturbingly broken and random. Occasionally, Elaine did not even recognize Will. The money in his mother's bank account was swiftly running out, and Mary, who had taken a short-contract consulting job for a local aerospace firm, did not have the resources to treat Elaine with any appreciable care._

     "Do you suppose it's the Specters?" Will said to Mary one evening after she'd come home from work. "I mean, if it is, perhaps one of the angels could help her out? But if it isn't, if it's something worse…what can we do?"

     Mary had wondered the same thing. She could offer no better answer.

     "The first thing we need to do," she said, "is take her to see a doctor. Then we can worry about what needs to be done." Will was glad Mary was with him, offering him not only friendship but another mind with which to solve life's problems. Of course he had his daemon Kirjava, his very soul to keep him company, but Will had lived his life accustomed to human company, and that was something he and Kirjava knew would never change.

     Having only consulted various medical books on the subject, Will and Mary assumed that, excluding the possibilities of Specters, Elaine's problem was a variation of paranoid schizophrenia. They also noted in their own research that there was no single definitive method of diagnosing schizophrenia -- only several very good means of guessing, and that those means are _usually _correct in their diagnoses. Methods included analyzing answers to questions asked of patients suspected of being schizophrenic, observed and recorded behavior of the patient, and, most definitively, an MRI scan. Even then, MRI scans may reveal brain formations that can exist in non-schizophrenic patients.

     Once they'd finished with their own research did Will and Mary take Elaine to a neuropathologist. As Mary was now Will's guardian, Elaine could be diagnosed as mentally ill without the fear of Will being taken away from her.

     The neuropathologist, one Dr. Nigel Greenfield, performed the MRI scan. Once the results came back, he rang up Will and Mary and shared the results with them. 

     "It would seem from the scans that Elaine does not have schizophrenia. Though, I am afraid to say, my colleagues and I detected the earmarks of early onset Alzheimer's Disease in your mother's brain."

     Dr. Greenfield gave his condolences to Will, but reassured him with a litany of new treatments for Alzheimer's, as well as a stack of pamphlets designed to help make his mother more comfortable.

     What Dr. Greenfield did not provide, though, was a cure.

     Will and Mary were somewhat relieved that it wasn't Specters after all. Maybe the need to count leaves and stones and slats, as Elaine had exhibited for some time, was some innate action the brain told the body to execute when dealing with a threat it couldn't seemingly handle: Tullio, the young man from Cittagazze, counted stones when he was attacked by a Specter; Elaine, it seemed, had Alzheimer's to blame for the same action.

     Dr. Greenfield explained further that the Alzheimer's was causing her brain to physically resemble the brain of a child. It is understandable, he said, that Will and Mary thought Elaine might have had schizophrenia, since many of her symptoms resembled that of schizophrenic patients. 

     Drugs were prescribed for Elaine to treat the Alzheimer's: aricept, exelon and reminyl, each to be taken a few weeks apart from one another on a trial basis, to most efficiently verify which of the three was having the greatest effect. Dr. Greenfield reminded them, however, that all the drugs would do is slow the progress of her Alzheimer's, and not completely stop it. "They increase the amounts of neurotransmitters in the brain, but that's all. And," he added gravely, "the physical damage to Elaine's gray matter has already be done."

     Will and Mary understood, and started the treatment themselves. When the drugs were administered, however, a horrifyingly unexpected result occurred.

     Elaine's confusion and panic became much, much worse.

     Each time a small dose of the drugs was administered, Elaine flew into a frenzied state of panic, touching every wall of the Parry house, crawling and touching every step. She would remove and replace the eggs in the fridge, breaking most of them as she did so. She wailed incoherently, looking for a safe place to hide. Will and Mary could only wait for her to settle and try keeping her from injuring herself. 

     Why was this happening? Had she been given the wrong drugs? Mary made an angry call to Dr. Greenfield, and another to the chemists who had prepared the treatment, and learned that no, they'd been given the correct drugs and that they'd been supplied to Will and Mary in the correct dosage amounts. Mary hung up and told Will. 

     They stopped giving Elaine the drugs, and her panic attacks ceased immediately. They were now back where they had been a few months earlier. 

     While driving to work, Mary went over her and Will's first conversation with Dr. Greenfield regarding Elaine's condition. And the thing she remembered he'd said nearly made her swerve off the parkway.

     …_causing her brain to physically resemble the brain of a child…_

_     …the brain of a child…_

_     She turned around instantly, picked up Will at school (she wrote him a note excusing him early), took him home, and sat him down._

     "That's it!" Will exclaimed. "How could we not have seen it?"

     Specters, Will and Mary remembered, had no effect on children; children, in fact, could not see Specters. Was it the Alzheimer's that was actually _staving off _Specters that were plaguing her?

     "It explains everything, Will! If she's given the drugs, her brain functions more like a healthy adult brain! She'd be more likely to see _it_…or _them…"_

     "But does that mean they weren't bothering her before the Alzheimer's started affecting her mind, or after? And why aren't the Specters going after you or me?"  
     Mary paced the floor a bit. "Well, no one from your world can see Specters – neither of _us can, and _we_ can see our daemons!" Will and Mary's daemons nodded in assent._

     "Maybe it's got to do with disease in this world," Will ventured, "at least disease of the mind, anyhow. That is, people in our world just aren't looking to see Specters or other things beyond their everyday comprehension; they're not wired for it. Too many barriers in their minds. But if there's something wrong with your mind…"

     "Then maybe the Specters see that as a weakness! That makes sense, Will…I mean, if Specters just attacked any adults, we'd hear a lot more about people who just suddenly go all catatonic. They plague those with weakened minds. I wonder how many people have been attacked by Specters?"

     "And no one would ever know it. They'd just think their illness took a sudden turn for the worse."

     "But there's a difference with your mother, isn't there, Will? If it is Specters that are plaguing her, then doesn't that mean her illness not only attracted the Specters to her, but are keeping them from completely destroying her at the same time?"

     Will shuddered at the prospect. What his mother must have gone through for so long. Must be going through _now. He and Mary realized the painful truth of Elaine's situation: if her Alzheimer's continued unabated, she would most certainly die within a decade or sooner; but if the dosage of the drugs were to increase, she might be made totally vulnerable to a successful Specter attack._

     "They're just waiting for her to cave in. Like circling vultures, they are." Will wanted to vomit. "I suppose it _is Specters that make her count leaves and bricks and things. Damn them all."_

     "We don't know if Specters are really part of it yet," said Mary, attempting to echo her words from before they knew of Elaine's Alzheimer's. But she and Will both knew there could be no other answer. All they needed was absolute confirmation. For that, they would need additional help.

     An angel. 

     After a short period of intense concentration, the angel Xaphania appeared before Will and Mary. Their daemons stepped back knowingly. They'd seen this angel once before. Elaine also seemed to see the angel and, to everyone's wonderment, didn't appear particularly shocked by her presence; in fact, her face displayed a look of comfort and relief.

     "Hello, Xaphania," Will said. "Thank you for coming,"

     "It is good to see you again, Will. And you, Mary." They all knew they could not spend much time on small talk. After their greetings, Xaphania turned to Elaine and took a few steps towards her.

     The angel froze. She was visibly distraught.

     "You were both right," said Xaphania, having obviously heard Will and Mary's thoughts on the matter. "There is a Specter within your mother, Will. And there are several near by… I can't see them… but I can sense them."

     Will needed to be held. He wanted to hold his mother, but feared the unseen Specter within her. But what had he to fear? He'd not been harmed by them, and she was still his mother, no matter what horrific damage had been incurred upon her by the disease and the evil entities. He looked at Xaphania, silently asking her if it would be alright from him to go to his mother. The angel nodded, and Will embraced his mother fiercely.

     "Can you stop them?" Will pleaded to Xaphania. The angel sat down and told Will and Mary all that she could.

     "Perhaps one of them, yes, but it seems as if the Specters are bent on destroying your mother. She's been such a challenge for them. They've become obsessed with trying to bring her down, I feel. Even if I destroyed one of them, it would need to be outside your mother's body. Attempting to do so otherwise might injure your mother further." Will understood, though Elaine did not. She simply stared at the shimmering figure in the recliner across from her.

     Xaphania went on. "_And,_ assuming it is possible for the Specter to be removed—"

     "Exorcised," said Mary, unthinkingly, though no one seemed to mind her very accurate outburst. 

     "—from Elaine's body, there would be several more there to take its place. And I can't stay with your mother forever, nor can any other angel."

     Will let go of his mother. He knew Xaphania and the angels in charge couldn't be guardians over his mother until her death, and he didn't expect them to be, either.

     "So the question is," said Mary, "how do we make the Specters _not _want Elaine?"

     No one spoke for a moment. Then, Xaphania made the point that whatever it was that had attracted the Specters to her in the first place would need to be eradicated. "You would need to remove the disease from her mind, completely," said Xaphania. "But I myself can not precisely say how."

     Will boiled with frustration. It wasn't _fair. The Alzheimer's was enough of a burden on his mother, and himself – why did it need to be complicated by Specters? Did they know somehow about his father, and him, and the things they had done? Was it all connected? He didn't know, and he didn't know if it even matter. He just wanted to save his mother._

     "But," Xaphania said to Will, knowing this thoughts, "I did not say it was impossible to do such a thing. All I can do is to guide the both of you, nothing more."

     Will looked at Xaphania, as did Mary, feeling with a spark of desperation. "What do you mean by that?" asked Mary.

     "Your research, Dr. Malone. Did you destroy all of it?"

     Mary didn't understand why the angel had brought her research up. "Well, I smashed some items in the lab, and erased the lab computer's hard drive…"  

     But she had backups of her research at home, as well as the original copy of the program she'd written to translate the Dust's conscious energy into text on a computer screen.

     "No, not all of it, I suppose," Mary said.

     "That is good to hear," the angel said. "because you will need it to save Elaine Parry."

     Xaphania then turned to Will. "And _you_ will need to study harder."

     The angel explained, as Will and Mary had suspected, that there was no choice but to not only find a way to drive out the Specter, but _cure_ Elaine Parry of her Alzheimer's.

     "Is that what I'm going to have to do? Study medicine?" Will was unsure he'd be able to follow such a course of study.

     "Learn all that you can, Will. You will need learn everything there is to know about the human mind, and how it is affected by your mother's disease. To be successful, all the learning you must do will take you beyond your current schooling."

     "What does that mean? Am I supposed to visit the library after school and study?"     

     "I think she means you're to become a neuropathologist, Will," said Mary, a little unsure that that was Xaphania's true meaning.

     "I can't say whether you will need to achieve the status of a doctor who specializes in brain disorder, but I do know you must follow a path that could lead you to that destination."

     Will shook his head. "Are you saying…what? I have to study myself silly, get into med school, and then maybe _drop out? And from that, I'm supposed to find a _cure?!_"_

     "Your studies will only be part of the solution," the angel calmly went on. "The knowledge you accumulate will help your mother. Mary's work will be the other part of the solution."

     "Am I to rebuild the Cave, then?" Mary had a hard time believing the angel's words. "At Oxford, we were barely scraping together the funding we needed just to maintain the machine! And most of the equipment was there before I even come onto the project. Where am I supposed to get everything I need?"

     "You will find a way. Very soon."

     And with that, Xaphania vanished, leaving Will and Mary with their jaws left open and their heads spinning madly.

     Will was conflicted as never before. He wanted to help his mother get better, of course, but the startling news – or were they _orders?_ – that Xaphania had given them seemed impossible to achieve.

     If there was no other way, then there was no other way. And in his heart, Will knew it wasn't going to be enough to simply care for his mother; he had to make her better. To bring her back. He'd dreamed all along that he'd somehow cure her, but once he'd heard Xaphania tell him _yes, that's exactly what you have to do_, the fear of failure became overwhelming. He wanted to run from his new burden.

     But Will knew he couldn't do that, nor would he ever. He'd never betray his mother, the woman he would gladly die for, whom he loved so dearly. In some way, Will told himself, I'm doing this to help build the Republic of Heaven. I'm making this a better world, not only for my mother but for Mary and myself, and where better to start than with someone you love more than anything in the world? Will vowed he would do everything he could to make his mother's time left on Earth the best it could possibly be.

     Mary was working out what would need to happen for she and Will to launch their two-pronged attack, and she came to an undeniable conclusion that they were going to need money. An obscene amount of money. If Will were to achieve the level of neuropathological knowledge Xaphania claimed he would need to save Elaine, he would need to pay to get into the right medical school; he was too old to attend any Preparatory Schools, and even with a scholarship or two, he would have to rely on money from a supplemental source. There was also the business of acquiring the proper equipment for Mary. She'd need to reconstruct the main Cave database, set up a new detector and amplifier, and hope that the speech software she'd written would work with whatever mismatched parts she could get her hands on. And of course, Elaine would require care in the meantime while Will and Mary struggled with their hefty assignments.

     They knew what needed to be done. Now, they needed the means with which to do it.

     As it turned out, Will had the answer to all their problems, wrapped up in a sock, lying patiently in his bottom dresser drawer.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Alec was roughly seventy pages into the book when his stomach started to growl. He hadn't eaten any lunch, and despite the decadently copious snacks available in the ship's many eateries, he'd skipped having a snack as well.

     He'd passed the point in the book where the character Novinha, a young woman living in a human colony on the planet Lusitania, had recently lost a family member, and requested a figure known as the Speaker for the Dead to come and tell the life story of her slain loved one. Alec thought of his mother, Emily, and the eulogy given at her funeral by his father Will. He remembered listening to his father's tearful words, and for a brief moment wasn't angry at his father. But that feeling passed with time, and Alec went back to blaming Will for his mother's death, even to that day.

     Alec decided he'd need to eat at some point, cursing his biological functions and their secret conspiracy to reveal his location. He wanted to check the book out, but that too would leave a trail. He creased the corner of page seventy-two, and placed the book between two other less raggedy books. He knew it would be easy to find if he wanted to read more later.

     Will was taking full advantage of the onboard masseuse service, located in the European spa on C deck. He hadn't had a massage all trip, or, for that matter, in several years, and once the masseuse had started softening his back muscles, he knew he'd been long overdue.

     Lying on his stomach, Will went over in his mind the large steps he would soon undertake. He didn't want to think of such things, not when his muscles were untying themselves so nicely, but his relaxation allowed to think with a clarity he'd not enjoyed in some time, either.

     He had to tell Alec tonight. Everything.

     _Please, Alec, come to dinner tonight. I don't know when else to tell you._ Will had tried to tell Alec many times during the trip, and even before, but for one reason or another, Will couldn't bring himself to do it. _There'll never be a perfect time, I know that. But some times are less imperfect than others._

     After his massage, Will tipped the masseuse and wobbled up the steps to the Lido Deck. He stretched his arms in the warm early-evening weather and rested his hands on his hips. Turning to his left, Will spied a young man from the back, sitting at a table of the open-air Lido Café. He'd found Alec.

     He wanted to call out to him, but knew that that might shoo him away. Instead, Will crept up on his son, while trying to seem like he wasn't creeping at all.

     "Hey there, son," said Will softly but firmly, giving Alec a jolt. His son sagged in his seat a little as he munched on a raspberry croissant.

     "Looks good. I haven't had one of those yet," said Will. He pointed to a chair at the table. "May I?"

     Alec shrugged and focused on the croissant. Will didn't ask what he'd been up to, even though he was curious. He drummed his fingers on the table a few times, thinking of what to possibly say next. _Well, there's nothing you can say that'll please him…nothing pleasant, at least._

     "So, are we on for dinner tonight? At the Franconia? Since we're in the grand suite, we get one unhurried seating, you know."

     Alec chewed some more. "What's that," he said without really asking.

     Will wasn't sure himself. He figured it meant they could just walk right in and take a table, but the wait for a table on a ship not filled to capacity didn't seem like much of a threat. "Don't quite know, really. Probably just some fancy phrase they use…"

     Will trailed off, sensing that his line of conversation was headed nowhere. He had to get Alec's attention somehow. Make him _want to be there._

     "Alec, I've got some things to tell you, tonight. Important things. About me. And about you."

     Alec stopped chewing. He glanced warily at Will, wondering if his father was only saying that to make him do what he wanted.

     "What things," said Alec, mouth still full of pastry and raspberry filling.

     "Well, I know you've had a lot of questions about your mother, and me, and my past. And I've never really told you, because I didn't think you were ready." _No! That sounds like an insult, Will. _"I mean, I didn't think you wanted me to tell you."

     Alec sat up, admittedly curious. Will _was getting his son's attention._

     "Why did you think that?"

     "I don't know, I just did."

     Alec looked back at the table, and resumed being angry with his father. So, his father had some things to tell him. So what? Why couldn't he just tell him now?  
     "Why do we have to wait until dinner? What's the big secret?"

Will stammered. He wasn't sure. No; he was sure. Will wanted time to prepare; to have a moment he could look forward to, that he'd planned, when he could do it. Not here. Not in the open, not at the spur of the moment. And he wanted Alec to be in the right state of mind, too. And he tried telling his son all of this. Alec just shrugged.

     "Alright, I guess," Alec said. "What'll there be to eat?"

     Will smiled a bit. "Oh, most anything you like, I'm guessing, but I think the special will be something with steak involved." Will swiftly produced a menu for that evening to prove it; Alec liked steak rather a lot, and he wanted to show Alec he wasn't just mentioning steak as something to entice him into coming.

     Alec looked at the menu and nodded. "What time," he said.

     "Seven-thirty," said Will. "And we don't have to dress up or anything like that."

     His son finished the croissant and shrugged again. "Fine, I guess." He put his headphones back on and left the table.

     Will sat there for a moment longer, and quickly left to find a spot where he could hide his face. He couldn't be seen weeping in public.


	5. Authority

THE LONELY TRAVELER, Chapter 5: AUTHORITY 

 "This is how it's going to go. Pay attention." Bella was kneeling over a map of the fairgrounds she'd drawn in the dirt, with Ramses perched on her shoulder as a small raven. He fancied himself her second-in-command, though his role would chiefly be that of surveillance. Bella had assessed the strengths and weaknesses of her team and broke the children up into smaller groups, each with their own role to play.

     It was quarter of six. The rest of her team grouped around her. All eyes were trained fiercely on the map, and their daemons kept quiet. She first explained to the team that her mother was visiting the Costas, and how they could use this to their advantage; she could distract her mother, or Richie could distract Ma Costa, his grandmother.      

     "The main idea is to set everyone up at each location before the other teams do, even if they also think of doing it. I'm hoping that the other teams will move as one large group, from place to place. Even if they don't, we'll be better able to deal with them if we split up this way.

     "The other two teams will likely try to make for the Costa's tent from the rear to keep from being seen, though it wouldn't surprise me if the brick burners made an attempt for the front of the tent, thick-headed as they are." The other children murmured their agreement in camaraderie-filled unison.

     Bella pointed with a tree branch to a section of the map and addressed a gyptian boy named Xavier. "You and your team will make for the group of trees behind the Costa's tents. You should go outside the fairgrounds to do this." Bella knew Xavier and the two boys in his group were fast runners, and though the path she'd laid out was the longer way; their speed would allow them to gain the necessary ground.

     "The task of Xavier's group won't be to get the Authority," she went on. "They're only there to hold off the other teams while Richie and I go the same way." She turned to another gyptian boy named Carlo and his sister Serena.

     "You and your sister will be the backup group. You'll be going through the fairgrounds toward the Costas tents, but you won't actually go all the way there."

     "In other words, try and stop the brick burners," said Carlo, not concealing his disappointment. Serena wasn't worried, though; she was a strong girl, and few boys ever tried to overpower her. 

     Bella tried appeasing Carlo. "I trust that you two will be the best for this task. You should be honored!" Bella meant what she said, but it came off somewhat insincere. She moved on. 

     "Janetta and Tersa will stay by the scarf. Tersa is the best at untying knots on this team, and Janetta will guard against any of the other teams." Like Serena, Janetta was also a girl to reckon with, having spent her childhood learning various defense maneuvers from her older brother Marco.

     Bella went on. "Once Richie and I have the Authority, Xavier and Carlo's groups will return as fast as possible, and help guard Tersa and the others. You'll all go back the way Xavier originally came…along the edge of the fairgrounds. That way is much quicker."

     "We'll try," Xavier said, "but we might still be holding off the first group we encounter."

     "Do your best," urged Bella. Xavier took her words of encouragement to heart. "That leaves Victor, who'll be the messenger and guard the corn tanker at all times. From here…" -- Bella pointed to another spot on the map representing the tanker – "Victor will keep an eye out for anyone from our team who has completed their task. Stay at the base of the mast." From where he would be standing on the corn tanker, he'd be able to see Bella and Richie from a distance, as well as the coal shed. Bella pulled a bright orange silk flag from her clothing. "Victor will wave this flag to let Tersa and Janetta know that we've got the Authority. Everyone needs to keep their eyes on the tanker whenever they're able." 

     "I'll act like I'm one of the workers," Victor said proudly. He certainly had the build for it, and looked nearly ten years older than he really was.

     Tersa had a question. "So I don't start untying one of the scarves until you and Richie are back with the Authority, right?"

     "Right," Bella said. "If you start even a moment before we get there, we all lose." Tersa shrank away, feeling several belittling pairs of eyes looking at her for asking such a silly question.

     "That's what I'll be there for," Janetta boasted. "I'll get the signal from Xavier and let you know to get ready, and keep away anyone who wants to get a jump on the scarves."

     Bella continued. "Once Richie and I are back and Tersa undoes the scarf, we'll grab it and make for the corn tanker. Victor will stand at the base of the mast and keep any of the other teams from getting up there." Her idea was that if he managed to pass himself off as one of the tanker's workers, he'd get the workers to help in keeping anyone off that didn't belong there. He would, of course, let Bella and Richie up to the top.

     She brought her plan to its conclusion. "Once we've secured the Authority at the top of the mast, and we have the feather and the ear of corn, the rest of you will split up and keep the rest of the teams away from us until we're safely at the finish." 

     Bella was proud of her plan. She'd phrased everything in terms of _when we get there _and _after we've done this task._ No _if_'s. She was certain it would all go off according to plan. She'd hoped that Theo, bright as he was, wasn't coming up with as clever a plan himself.

     They all shook hands and said a few words of encouragement to one another. They headed back to the stump, ready to begin.

     Bella and the gyptian children were the first complete team to arrive at the stump before six o'clock. Members of the two other teams straggled back, often in pairs, whispering to one another the plans they'd devised, making sure no one forget a single detail. Some of the children sauntered back confidently, but Bella could tell that many of them were only putting on airs; it was just as important to _look_ prepared for Authority as it was to have a solid plan of action in place. Bella had both the look and the plan well in hand. Theo was one of the last to return. He had most of his team surrounding him, asking him several last-minute questions. _Looks like he's got things well in hand, too. _I don't know whether I want him to lose or win. _ Part of her wanted the former; another part wanted the latter._

     Marco was back on the stump. He had tied a rope around his waist, with the other end of the rope tied to another door handle like the one the scarves were attached to. This way, he couldn't help or hinder any of the teams during the course of play. It was another unspoken rule, and no one ever dared keeping him from officiating, for it too was grounds for immediate disqualification. The children gathered around. One minute to go.

     He looked blankly at the contestants, all as taut and motionless as tigers about to pounce. By contrast, the children's daemons paced and fluttered, keeping close by, their frenetic movement further energizing the proceedings. Marco bent down and picked up a wooden board and metal wash pail from the ground. It was almost time.

     He then recited the phrase that officially started every round of Authority. He had to change it slightly this time, due to the number of teams, but spoke it with all the pomp and circumstance it had come to possess:

                             Forces good and forces evil,

                             These three forces fight this day.

                             Seize the Authority, I command:

                             This grand task all must obey!

     The children cheered with excitement. Marco finished.

     "On count of one, begin! Three…"

     Marco held the wash pail aloft.

     "Two…"

     He raised the wooden board, surveying the crowd one last time. All were ready.

     "One!"

     Calliope let out a howl, and wood made contact with metal in Marco's hands. With a _clang_, Authority was underway. 

     Like drops of mercury on a flat surface, the children scattered in all directions at once. Bella took a quick moment to note which way the other teams dispersed. "Look where they're going," Bella said to Ramses. "See if they do what I predicted."

     "One step ahead of you, dear," Ramses answered, watching the other children and daemons intently. The brick burners bolted in one direction, all together, and were immediately lost in the crowds. She figured they'd do as much, taking the obvious and easiest-to-follow method of departure.

     "They should be easy to follow," Ramses noted. "Carlo and Serena should have little trouble." 

     Theo's team split into two groups; one mostly made of boys, and the other mostly girls. Theo was with the group of girls, who headed straight upriver through the crowds. Theo's daemon Hera was a bullfinch once more, flying ahead of Theo and keeping watch. "Great minds think alike," Ramses said to Bella. She smiled slightly. The other group of townies, three boys, made for some dinghies near where Bella had earlier docked hers.

     _Good luck, Xavier. Stop them for me and Richie._

     Her team had already sprung into action. It surprised her, pleasantly, that no other team had left even a single player near the scarves. Janetta and Tersa held fast as Marco watched them silently. Victor and his daemon were already making their way to the corn tanker; as Victor ran, he put on a cap similar to those worn by tanker workers, and turned his jacket inside out so its colors would match those of the workers' uniforms. Bella was glad to have such a smart, devious fellow on her team, and hoped she wouldn't tarnish the winning record he and Marco had established.

     Xavier and his group were neck and neck with the boys from Theo's group. They did what they could to stop each other, all the while trying not to act so unruly as to draw attention to themselves. Every move they made was well-timed and subtle, executed for maximum effect and minimal visibility. Their daemons hissed and growled in low tones, some engaging in brief midair dogfights. Bella had faith Xavier's group would do their job.

     Meanwhile, Carlo and his sister tracked the brick burners, who were attempting a frontal assault on the tents, and were already nearing the boats to cross to the other side of the river. Did they think they wouldn't get caught? Did they care? No matter; it would be an automatic loss for them, and probably wouldn't bother to play again next year.

     Bella and Richie were making good time, following behind Xavier's group and the boys from Theo's team. Bella looked for opportunities to advance, hoping Xavier's team could delay the others long enough to give she and Richie a few precious seconds to pass them all by and get ahead.

     They reached the edge of the fairgrounds on the other side of the river, the side that Bella and Theo originally came from. Trees edged the fair, and beyond that was an expanse of field. This is where speed would be crucial, and where Bella hoped Xavier's crew would do their job.  Bella was glad that Theo wasn't there to race her, but somehow wished he was there all the same.

     Xavier tripped up one of the townie boys and pinned him to the ground. The other boys on Xavier's crew were throwing clods of dirt at the enemies, hoping to knock them down or perhaps temporarily blind them. The townies daemons, most of which were in the form of dogs, growled openly now, beyond the ears of adults. Xavier's efforts helped in slowing the townies down, but he would have to work harder if Bella and Richie were to get to the tents any quicker.

     Then Bella had an idea. She got the attention of one of the boys from Xavier's group and pulled him to her side. "Go just inside the fairgrounds, on the other side of the trees. There may be enough room for you to run." She whispered a bit more into his ear. He smiled and nodded with understanding and grabbed the other member of Xavier's group. The townies were getting away.

     "What are you doing, Jeffries?" bellowed Xavier. "We had almost had 'em!" Bella quickly told her plan to him, and his eyes widened with admiration. He patted her on the shoulder and followed her instructions. 

     Bella and Richie gathered up some clumps of dirt in their hands, and were now running with a full head of steam. Xavier had run up ahead of them, but was still behind the townie boys. The other boys on Bella's team were nowhere in sight. The timing of Bella's plan would have to be perfect.

     Suddenly, one of the boys from Xavier's group popped out from the trees, just ahead of the townies. He was facing them, and had a look of extreme distress on his face. His cockatiel daemon squawked maniacally.

     "Ma Costa! She's seen us! Run! She's comin'! We gotta get movin'!"

     The townie boys slowed up just a bit, but didn't buy the boy's claim. "You ain't seen that old bag," one of them said. "Get out of our way." Their dog daemons bristled and pawed the ground forcefully.

     From behind the trees came a terrifying voice. One thing the townie boys were unaware of was that Luis, the other gyptian boy in Xavier's group, had a knack for impersonations, and among the many he had mastered was that of Ma Costa. 

     "What you kids doin', stealin' my best hen! I'll thump you good, I will!"

     The townie boys froze in their tracks, their daemons whimpering in fear. The impersonation was pitch-perfect. Bella and Ramses were even taken aback but knew the real Ma Costa sounded somewhat older. But it was real enough for the townies. They broke away, one into the trees, the other back toward Richie and Bella. Lying in wait between the trees, Xavier and Luis let loose with a barrage of dirt and grass, knocking down the one townie. Daemons clashed with daemons in a confusion of fur and feathers. Richie and Bella deployed their own arsenal and handily dispatched the other boy. The plan had succeeded beautifully.

     _Now, on to the real Ma Costa._

* * * * * * * * * *

     Victor smoothed out the new "uniform" with his hands. He inched his way toward the tanker, eyeing a rope ladder dangling from the shoreside edge. He'd considered using the ramp to the ship that connected to the dock, but too many people were using it for his liking. He avoided eye contact with anyone, particularly workers of the ship who at first might mistake him for one of their own, but then might notice just how young he was. He wanted to blend in.

     He finally reached the ladder. As luck had it, a small sack of cleaning powder lay on the ground nearby. With something to haul, his look was now complete. He looked back and forth quickly, and slung it over his shoulder. Now he truly looked the part. His daemon Phaedra scrambled alongside of him in the form of a marmoset.

     He climbed the ladder, Phaedra right in front of him. She looked around and saw nothing to worry about. "All clear," she whispered. "Come on up." He reached the top and peered over the edge. Not many folks around, or even close to his position. Good. He thought for a moment that this would be too easy, but kept such thoughts out of his mind. Anything could happen at any moment. He threw the sack onto the deck of the ship and pulled himself up after Phaedra.

     Victor grabbed the sack again and made for the mast, though not directly.  Slyly, he analyzed the deck and its surroundings, looking for any escape route or point of access he might need to remember over the course of the next hour or so. Phaedra kept her tiny eyes open as well, scurrying behind crates and other sacks of goods. He saw several crates of corn stacked along the edges of the deck, making mental notes of which crates would be easiest to grab an ear of corn from when the right time came. He considered taking one at that moment, but knew it would against the rules, even though no one was watching him. 

     He moved casually from one area of the deck to another, trying to appear as if he had something to do, but nothing important enough to make himself noticed. Victor felt was the master of his craft, and because of it, wished he could play Authority more often. Winning today, though, would more than make up for Authority's once-a-year format.

     He arrived at the base of the mast and made himself inconspicuous. Phaedra leapt up to his shoulder and crawled a short way up the mast. Victor kept one eye on the trees where Richie and Bella had entered, and another on the coal shed. Phaedra acted as his other pair of eyes.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Janetta hung back a distance from the shed, trying to see if she could spot Victor anywhere on the tanker. She knew of his disguise, which would make it harder for her to spot him. And since he'd not be waving the orange flag until he saw Richie and Bella with the Authority, she would just have to keep her attention in two places at once for a bit longer than she'd hoped.

     "Bet you didn't think we'd just stay right here," Tersa said to Marco. Tersa had always had a special, unexplainable affinity for Marco, an affinity that perfectly illustrated of one of Authority's many elusive variables: the interplay between the boys and the girls, and how they could play on each other's young, indefinable desires for the opposite sex. They still weren't entirely sure of these feelings, but the girls at least knew how to use them on occasion with greater skill than the boys. Marco, though, was having none of it.

     "You wouldn't mind if I tried to untie just one of the scarves, just a little, would you?" She batted her eyes at Marco. Her cat daemon Travis slid up to Marco's Calliope, nuzzling the calico-colored daemon's speckled fur. Tersa knew that adult women often used this technique when trying to persuade a man to do them a favor, but Marco either didn't know what she was getting at or didn't care. Janetta scoffed.

     "Do you want us disqualified, Tersa? Stay focused. He won't let us do anything he hasn't already declared as a rule. Give up, won't you!"

     Tersa was unphased. She only really ever played the game because Marco did, and in fact didn't care much for the game's outcome. Travis continued warming up to Calliope.

     "Please, Marco? Only a little bit? I'll untie it when Janetta isn't looking, so it'll only be my fault." Janetta and her sandpiper daemon Riki glared but knew her words would be useless. She watched fearfully.

     Marco cleared his throat. "You can loosen it if you want to." Tersa started, and Janetta gasped.

     "If you want to take a bath in pond slime," he finished.

     Travis scampered back to Tersa.  She and her daemon skulked away from Marco and over to Janetta, who was stifling a laugh.

     "I don't care much for boys," Tersa pouted.

     Janetta smiled. "Me neither," she said. "Now go back there and wait." 

     From around the edge of the coal shed appeared one of the girls from Theo's team. It was Alsacia. She was accompanied by three others from the team; a girl and two of the larger boys.

     "Hello, Janetta," she said. "Guarding the scarves well?" 

* * * * * * * * * *

     Carlo and his sister were just behind the brick burners. They'd already crossed the river and were heading straight for the Costa's tents. He and his sister Serena were having difficulty keeping up with them, and having an even harder time keeping track of all of them at once. Even with their daemons in the form of birds, watching from above, it was a laborious task. Carlo was thankful that the Kovacs' and Straussens were still somewhat close to one another, but knew that they could disperse at any moment.

     Serena's daemon swooped down to her shoulder and whispered something. Serena nodded. "They're moving closer to the river," she said to Carlo. "Why are they doing that?" 

     Carlo wasn't sure. "The crowd may be lighter there," he offered, "but not by much. We could overtake them through the crowds just as easily, and move even faster if we went near the trees."

     Serena agreed. "Should we go that way, or split up? One follows, the other goes ahead and tries to stop them?"

     Carlo shook his head. He did like the odds that that would create. "No. One of us alone couldn't slow down all of them at once. Let's keep on this way."

     They went farther upriver, pushing through the people, barely keeping the eight-member party in sight. And little by little, the brick burners nudged their way closer to the river. Did they think the tents were _on _the river? Surely not.

     Serena gasped and grabbed Carlo's right arm. "I can't find the Straussens, Carlo! Do you see them?" Carlo looked hard. He could not. Were they still there, and simply hard to pick out? Carlo and Serena's daemons tried their best, but saw nothing to help them.

     Suddenly, the daemons let out screeches of warning, but all too late. The brother and sister were seized from behind, their question answered.

     "Not so fast," hissed Arte Straussen. "You wouldn't be trying to stop _us,_ would you?"

     "Let us go, brick burner," scowled Serena. "You don't want to make a scene."

     "We don't intend to," chimed in Piter Straussen, who had a hold of Carlo's arm. "No one will. We won't make a scene. And we know _you _won't either."

     _They've got us there,_ thought Carlo. _But how did we lose track of them? _He reasoned the brick burners knew they were being tracked, and were intentionally drawing Carlo and Serena's attention away from the Straussen twins. _Never underestimate a brick burner,_ rued Carlo.

     "Let's talk for a moment, shall we?" The four children made their way to the edge of the fair near the trees, away from the public eye. Carlo and Serena were more than a little afraid of what might happen.

     "We thought we'd let you in on a little secret," Arte said. "We've decided to tell just the two of you!"

     "But the others will find out soon enough," Piter added. "So you're the first to know!"

     Carlo sneered. "How lucky for us."

     Arte and Piter shared a wicked look. "We plan on losing the race."

     Serena looked at Carlo. She wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but she didn't like the sound of it. She didn't like the sound anything the brick burners said anyway, but least of all that.

     Carlo took the bait. "How? By just walking up to the Costa's tent and grabbing the Authority? You'll make far too much noise. Very sloppy, if I do say so. But if you want to get caught, that's the best way to do it, I'll give you that."

     Piter laughed. "No, there's an even better way. We could just walk right up to Ma Costa and tell her what's going on."

     Nausea hammered at Carlo and Serena's stomachs. Their daemons became small rodents that scurried into their pockets. _That's_ what this was all about. Of course the brick burners wanted to play; they were planning on revealing the secret of the game altogether! And if one adult knew, particularly Ma Costa…who knew what might happen? And if she knew the object of the game was to tie her biggest hen to the top of a corn tanker's mast? It could be end of Authority. No, they could find another game, some other means of turf warfare, maybe even revert to some of the older games from days gone by…but this was _their_ game, _their_ way of knowing who had control and who didn't. It was a part of the young people's collective identity. And the brick burners just didn't care. It was unthinkable.

     Arte and Piter's daemons were ominous crowing birds. "The others should be there soon," informed Arte Straussen. "And then you'll all lose."

     Serena felt dizzy. How could Marco and the others – _all of us, _really – be fooled into letting them play? But that's how the brick burners were, through and through. She looked to Carlo for comfort.

     Carlo regained his composure and locked his eyes onto the twin menaces. His daemon reemerged as a wolverine. They weren't beaten yet.

     "You don't know much about Bella Jeffries," warned Carlo. "You may think so, but you'll see how little you know of what she's truly able of. She'll stop you." 

     "We'll see about that," the two boys said. "In the meantime, we'll all just wait right here." 

* * * * * * * * * *

     Bella and Richie arrived behind the Costa's tents. A few lights glowed within the main tent where Lyra and Ma Costa were.

     "It won't be long before those boys start coming for us," Ramses reminded Bella. "Xavier is strong, but he won't last forever."

     "I know, I know. Don't bother me!" She didn't mean to snap at Ramses, but wished he wouldn't trouble her with the obvious. She turned to Richie.

     "Have you got the cover?" she asked.

     Richie nodded. "Safe and sound," he said. He patted his jacket. "I'll wait till I see you before I use it."

     Bella nodded. She planned on entering the main tent, where Lyra and Ma Costa presumably were conversing. She would distract them while Richie would place a light-tight covering over the cage in the smaller tent, making the hen think it was night and causing it to fall asleep. Bella was reasonably sure that the cage was not part of a larger unit, and that it could be carried away with no trouble. She hoped.

     "Does your grandmother keep the hens in separate cages?"

     Richie paused. He wasn't positive. And his cover was large enough for one smaller cage, not a larger three-cage apparatus. "Sorry, Bella. I don't know. My family has many cages. I'm not sure which one I'll be dealing with."

     "Then you don't know which cage the Authority is in?"

     Richie shrugged an apology. 

     "Check for us," Bella asked Ramses, "and see which cage it's in." He became a squirrel and bounded over to where the hens were kept. Richie's daemon Alma became a large hornet and hovered outside one of the tent's high windows to make sure no one would be coming out. The children were grateful that the tents did not have larger, lower windows like so many others at the fair.

     Ramses climbed up a sapling that stood next to the cages, and took a closer look. Sure enough, the cages were three separate pieces, not all connected, and each had a handle. And resting in the center cage was a plump white hen, a smattering of black feathers about its tail. Making sure, Ramses climbed out onto one of the limbs for a better view and checked to see if the cages were connected by any fasteners or wiring. He saw none. He leapt off the limb, causing the sapling to spring back lightly and tap the edge of the cage tent. Everyone froze. 

     _No more spy missions for you,_ Bella thought. Ramses returned to Bella's shoulder and apologized. "But it's the one in the center cage, and it's separate and removable," offered Ramses, easing the children's tensions a little.

     Alma returned and whispered to Richie. "They're both inside," she told him. "You should go now."

     "It's time, Richie told Bella. She circled around to the front of the main tent and took a quick glance around. _No one here that shouldn't be here. This would work perfectly; her mother wanted to meet her no later than sundown, and here she would be, hours early…of course, she wouldn't be staying for very long, but it _would_ buy her enough time to let Richie get the cage and the Authority._

     She rapped on the entrance flap. Paula appeared and recognized her instantly.

     "Bella! Come to see your mother, have you?" Bella nodded politely and smiled, attempting to give a convincingly innocent performance. _Don't even hint that you're still playing, Bella Jeffries! _She didn't want to deceive her mother, but maintaining the integrity of the game was too important.

     Just as Bella stepped inside the tent, a realization crashed down on her like a tidal wave. She had _no _idea what she'd say when she entered. She wished she'd planned that out ahead of time. Why hadn't she thought of this before? _Was I too busy planning everything else? Did I think it wouldn't be too big a problem for me to handle? What if they see right through what I'm trying to do? But how could they. They don't know how the game is played. Think of something to ask Mother. That's it. Mention something you might have seen, and mention it to her. See what she says. And answer all of Ma Costa's questions. You know how she loves to ask questions.      _

     Ramses teetered nervously on her shoulder as a dormouse. "Think you can pull this off?" he squeaked into her ear. She paid him no mind. She wasn't sure if she could or not. _Please, Richie, work quickly and quietly._

     Paula pulled back the flap. Bella found her mother laughing at something Ma Costa had just said. _They're in good spirits. Excellent._

     "You've come early, dear," Lyra said. "Come in and say hello to Ma."

     Bella smiled politely at the elderly woman. Like Lyra, she too noticed how suddenly ancient the woman appeared, and chose to offer her a compliment.

     "You're looking very well," Bella said. _A lie on top of another lie,_ she thought. _How long will I be able to keep this up?_

     "You flatter me, Bella dear, but no need to say such things. I know I'm not at my best right now. But thank you all the same."

     Paula was still there. "Would you like some tea, Bella?"

     "No thank you, Paula. I'm fine." Paula nodded and ducked back out. With any luck, Richie had already put the cover over the cage. All he had to do was give her some sort of signal…

     _A signal! We never thought of any signal! How is he going to let me know he's done it?_ He was clever, though, and would know not to do anything rash enough to blow their cover. Perhaps she'd see his daemon through one of the high window openings. Perhaps he'd even come in to say hello…though that might be too suspicious, given that her mother and Ma Costa probably knew they both were playing the game. _I could tell them we're finished playing, couldn't I? _She simply had to keep her eyes open.

     "Have a seat, dear," Ma Costa invited. She motioned to the chair where her hawk daemon was perched. It was on the other side of Ma's settee, and worse, located in the farther place possible from the exit.

     "Um…that's alright. I'll stand, if it's all the same." Bella wasn't sure if that was the right thing to have said.

     "You've only just arrived dear," said Lyra. "Are you planning on going somewhere again?" Lyra nearly asked if she was still playing her game, but stopped and kept herself from making the same mistake twice in one day.

     "No, that's not it at all. I just…" She could think of no explanation, not even a bad one. Even a bad explanation would be better than saying no and then sitting down, but that's exactly what she did.

     "Sure you don't want any tea, dear?" Ma asked again. _Her hospitality will be the end of me,_ she thought. Again, Bella declined. _Please, Richie, hurry soon. _

     "So, Bella," Lyra said, delicately avoiding topics she knew not to discuss, "how is Theo enjoying the fair so far?"

     Bella smiled. "Oh, he's really enjoying it. We took a short dinghy ride, and I showed him a few of the horses…"

     "He should see _our horses, Bella dear. You won't find better ones in all o' Anglia! Maybe you could show him the Costa horses tonight?" Ma was toying with Bella now. She just wanted to see how she'd react._

     "Maybe I could," she said, realizing that she hadn't explained where Theo was. "He's looking at some of the trading vessels right now. He's really taken with those. I thought I'd come visit while he did that."

     _That sounds reasonable. If only it sounded like I meant it._

     "Really?" said Lyra. "I didn't know Theo liked trading vessels."

     "Never came up, I suppose," countered Bella.

     Lyra's curiosity was partially genuine, but she, like Ma, wanted to get at what Bella had been up to. "Does he ever build any model ships?"

     "I suppose he might, Mother. I've never asked." Her words sounded a little harsh. _Where in blazes is Richie?_ In spite of herself, she looked pleadingly at the high window behind her, hoping to catch a glimpse of Richie, or his daemon, or any other sign of relief.

     Before she had a chance to apologize for the tone of her reply, the voice of Robert Kovacs found its way to Bella's ears. Lyra and Ma Costa turned their heads toward the front of the tent, unable to see who was speaking with Paula. Carlo and Serena must have failed. Richie must have failed.

     _What's that brick burner doing? Does he mean to lose the game? It's almost as if…_

     And the plan told to Carlo and Serena by the Straussen twins became horrifyingly clear to Bella Jeffries. And it occurred to her that Robert Kovacs probably wasn't even expecting to find Bella there. _He'll enjoy that for sure, won't he? He doesn't give a damn about Authority, and he'll rat me out in front of my own mother too! _All she could do was sit and watch, mortified.

     Paula uncertainly let the young man in, with no reason to think he had any ill intentions. _He certainly can be charming when he needs to be._

     "Forgive me, grandmother, but this young man says he has some important news that you should know." Paula went back to the front.

     Ma was visibly nonplussed by the visitor. Who was this rough-looking young man, and what news could be so important as to bother an old woman he'd never even met? Her hawk daemon became tense.

     Robert was alone, but it didn't matter to Bella. His words would do more harm to the game than his whole group could do in combat to all the children who had ever played it. _Whatever happened to Richie?_

     "Do please forgive my intrusion, Mrs. Costa," said Robert. "This couldn't wait. I have some troubling news…"

     He only then noticed Bella, cowering behind Ma Costa and Lyra. He flashed that same sinister grin.

     "'Allo, Bella,' he said. "How's things? Played any games lately?"

     Bella went ghostly pale. Ma Costa and Lyra looked at her, then back to the young man, then to each other. Something was wrong here.

     "I don't play games," Bella said meekly. "None that you'd know about."

     Lyra saw the change in her daughter. "Dear, is everything alright? Are you not feeling well?"

     _Of course I'm not feeling well, Mother. I've lied to you and Ma Costa, and now I'm about to be revealed by this terrible person, and there's nothing I can say to stop it._

     She thought for a moment. "May I have some tea, please?"

     Ma smiled. "I knew you'd come around. Paula makes the finest mint tea." She called to Paula and asked her to bring Bella a glass. She turned to the young man, grudgingly showing him politeness. "Would _you_ care for some?"

     Robert was a bit annoyed that his comeuppance over Bella was being delayed by a drink order, but held steady. "No thank you, ma'am. I just wanted you to know that some children are planning on stealing one of your hens."

     Everyone in the tent held still, stillest of all Bella.

     "You see, there are some children here at the fair today that are—"

     A loud crash from outside caused all heads to snap in the direction of the cages. _Richie, what have you done? What's going on out there?_

     Robert was too distracted by the commotion outside to complete his thought. There were more sounds of crashing, followed by children's cries, howling and screeching, and the panting of struggling children. Then, a moment later, Richie Costa burst into the tent. He didn't have the hen.

     "Grandma! Don't listen to him! He's going to take one your hens!"

     Robert Kovacs stood stunned, victory swiftly snatched from his claws. Ma Costa was instantly furious and up off her settee in an unbelievable instant. She reached for her cane.

     "Is that so? You come into my tent, meaning to play me like a fool, with eyes on my property?" She was waving the cane at Robert now. "What's your name, boy?"

     With no cards left to play, Robert could only answer truthfully. "Robert…Robert Kovacs, ma'am. I'm sorry, I wasn't really going to steal it, honest!"

     Lyra's ears perked up. She'd heard that last name before…_Kovacs._ Of course! He was a child of the brick burners! Seemed this generation was carrying on the family flame. She laughed at the realization, though no one noticed. 

     "Well, Robert Kovacs, you have to the count of five to bring me my hen or you'll get a cane upside your head, you will! One! Two!"

     Before Ma said _two,_ he was out of the tent. He knew he'd better produce that hen and fast, or else she'd chase him up and down the fairgrounds until one of them tired out. He didn't want to take his chances. Before Ma said _four,_ he stood there, back inside the tent, cage in hand and hen in cage.

     "Set it down," Ma commanded. She pounded the ground with the cane.

     He set it down and dashed off into the night. There was some hurried talking and a little shouting outside the tent, but after it was over, the brick burners withdrew themselves from the game altogether.

     Bella sat dazed, staring at Richie. _What did he do? _

     "Sorry about that, Grandma. I was coming back to the tent when some of the brick burner kids grabbed me. They told me they planned on stealing one of your hens. Two of them held me back, while Robert planned to distract you with lies. He was going to say _I _planned on stealing it!"

     Ma patted his shoulders. "He was foolish to think I'd believe such a thing!"

     Richie went on. "I got free and came here as fast as I could." He turned to Bella and smiled. "Hello, Bella. What are you doing here? I haven't seen you all day!"

     _Bless you, Richie Costa. _

     Bella shrugged. "I'm just visiting with my mother and your grandmother."

     Ma looked adoringly at them both. "Such good children. Aren't they, Lyra dear?" Lyra looked at them as well, still sensing something was going on, but keeping her mouth shut. Lyra had spent the better part of her own childhood telling tall tales when she needed to – and even when she _didn't _need to – and was just as adept at spotting a whopper as she was at telling one.

     "None finer," she said, her words laced with suspicion that Bella vaguely picked up on.

     Richie piped up. "Well, if it's all the same, I'll put back your hen, grandma. Bella, will help me put the cages back in order?"

     Paula reentered with Bella's tea. "Sorry I took so long. What was all that commotion about?"

     Bella took the tea and drank it greedily. If she was drinking, she wasn't talking, and the less talking she did right now, the better. Bella finished the glass off and handed it back to Paula. She simply nodded to Richie.

     She then turned to her mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek. _If she can't tell what's going on, then she's not my mother._

     "I'll be back soon, Mother," she said. "Before sundown!"

     Lyra gave her a short knowing wink. "I'm sure you will be, dear." Bella turned to Ma Costa and kissed her hand.

     "Thank you for the tea. Take care of yourself."

     "Don't worry about me, dear. Just stay away from hen-thieves like those brick burner children!"

     "I will if I can help it," Bella replied.

     With that, Bella and Richie said good-bye to the two women, made sure they weren't being followed, and ran off with the Authority, who still thought it was time to sleep. 

* * * * * * * * * *

     "Hurry up, you two. Can't take that long to snatch a bleedin' hen." Victor was growing impatient, trying not to pace. His marmoset daemon Phaedra scrambled back and forth along the edge of the tanker's deck, watching for any sign of Bella and Richie. Suddenly, a gruff voice startled Victor.

     "Oy! Who are you? You part of the crew?"

     Victor's pulse quickened. He was prepared for any questions from adults, but still had hoped he wouldn't have to entertain any if he was lucky. He turned slowly around, with his cap pulled down as far as it could go without blinding him.

     Standing there was a shorter, portly fellow, perhaps in his mid-fifties, with a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard and a harrowing gaze. Neither the man nor his owl daemon appeared terribly personable. Phaedra continued patrolling, keeping an eye on Victor and the man.

     "I ain't seen you 'ere before, laddie," said the man. "You sure you're meant to be on this ship?"

     Victor was sizing the man up, trying to figure how much authority the man had. Might he be a higher-ranking member of the crew, or simply just another hired hand?

     "I just started this day," Victor uttered, in the lowest voice he'd ever attempted speaking in. He forced a bit of gravel into his words, hoping to age them appropriately. "Still a little out of sorts, but I'm finding my way 'round fine."

     The man nodded politely, but not with complete assurance that Victor was being truthful. "I say, then," the man asked, "could you help me with movin' a few barrels, then? I'm getting along in years, as you can see, and I'd much appreciate the help o' younger hands."

     Victor held back a too-happy grin of relief and nodded back. "More than happy to, sir," he said. "Where are they, and where might they be goin'?"

     "They're down in the main hold, and they need haulin' to one of them gyptian's tents. A ways down the river, but once we've got 'em on the shore, we can haul 'em there by horse."  
     Victor's relief vanished. What excuse could he use to stay on board? "Well, sir, I shan't have too long a time to help you. I'm waiting for a few of the others to help me with a chore o' my own."

     The man frowned. "What chore might that be?"

     Victor looked around, grappling for an answer. He came up short.

     The man laughed. "Thought so. I don't want to do more work than I gotta, but that's how it is. You'll help me, then. This way, young man." The man turned and waved to Victor to follow him. Phaedra looked at Victor nervously and leapt up to his shoulder.

     "Bella and Richie could be back any moment," Phaedra warned. "We don't have time for this."

     Victor felt foolish that he couldn't have bluffed his way out of helping the man. He still had to try.

     "I say there," Victor called to the man, "I'll be a moment in joining you. Just need to secure a few things up here topside. I'll be down to meet you shortly."

     The man scowled. "Best hurry, son. The ship heads out in one half hour." The man disappeared through the cargo door.

     "Half an hour?" Phaedra panicked. "Will that be enough time?"

     Victor held his face in his hands and breathed heavily. He'd been in pricklier situations than this before, but the comparison didn't make his current difficulties any smoother. He moved to the edge of the ship and looked out at the fair, straining for a sight of his teammates. "It'll have to be enough time. We'll stay on this ship as long as our team needs us to."

     Amidst the din of fairgoers' voices and assorted machinery, Victor heard a loud crash from the other side of the river. A chocolatl vendor's cart had been knocked over, which in turn toppled over a metalcraftsman's booth. Victor and Phaedra could not make out _what the two vendors were shouting, but could see who they were both shouting _at_: two children, a boy and a girl, one holding what looked like a dark box of some sort. The girl appeared to be saying something to the upset men as she continued to run, while the boy was looking in Victor and Phaedra's direction._

     "Is that them?" Phaedra asked. "What's Richie got in his hands?"

     Victor understood that Richie had kept the Authority in a covered cage. Well done.

     "That's them," he said. "Remarkable timing, eh?" He pulled the orange flag from his jacket and waved it at them. He saw the boy and girl wave back. 

     "Thank goodness he's seen us," Bella said.

     "If those two men weren't so slow in chasing after us, we wouldn't be going anywhere right now," snapped Richie. "You should watch where you're going."

     "Maybe Victor wouldn't have seen us if I hadn't run into them!"

     Satisfied that he had signaled successfully, Victor ran to the other side of the tanker, hoping to spot Janetta near the shed.

     "Can you see her, Phaedra?" Victor was having trouble spotting the girl, even though no one was around to disrupt his line of vision.

     "No sight of her," his daemon said. "You don't suppose she forgot to look for you, do you?"

     "No," Victor said grimly. "That's not like her."

     "Something's going on over there. You have to warn Richie and Bella."

     "How? By waving the flag some more? We can't leave the ship."

     Victor looked again and saw Alsacia, a member of the townie's team. He trembled a bit. She was talking to someone hidden behind the shed. If only Marco could do something! Marco must be terribly frustrated, thought Victor, watching not only his team but his sister being taking advantage of by the other team. Victor silently cursed the non-interference rule, and assumed Marco was doing the same.

     To Victor's eyes, Alsacia was pointing at and _ordering_ someone around – or perhaps more than one person? She paused, and looked right at Victor. Caught off guard, he quickly shied away from her gaze.

     Phaedra shifted from one of Victor's shoulders to the other. "Bella and Richie are walking into an ambush!"

     Victor agreed. Had they already lost, this soon? He also wished he was on the ground, more able to do _something, and not be stranded on that damnable tanker. "Maybe so…but I can't leave now! Anyone could come at any moment! But…oh, I don't know, Phaedra. Someone has to help them, if it ain't me.  But if I can't stay here—"_

     "Then I can," another voice said. It didn't sound like that of any adult. Victor turned around.

     It was Theo.

     "But," he said, "you have to promise me something first."

* * * * * * * * * *

     Marco was itching to help Tersa and his sister Janetta. The only official action he could take was to disqualify a team, and so far no one had done anything to merit a disqualification. He silently sent encouraging thoughts to his sister, hoping she might hear them and use their power to her advantage.

     "I'll ask you one last time," Alsacia said calmly. "Move away from the scarves, or they'll make you."

     Janetta and Tersa were blocking the scarves from the others. The two boys that were with Alsacia were standing over them. The other girl, Pam, was watching out for any of the other competitors, and whether or not they had the Authority.

     "Be careful what you wish for," Janetta taunted. "I've tangled with larger than you, and they all went away with plenty to show for it." Janetta knew the boys wouldn't physically harm her, at least not intentionally; that was another unwritten rule of Authority. No exchanging of blows and no mindful causing of injuries, but one could attempt to physically move a competitor, either offensively or defensively. And there was no rule against a larger boy trying to move a smaller girl.

     "We have just as much right to be here as you do," Tersa said. She was upset that Marco wasn't leaping to her rescue. Marco took some pleasure in her irritation toward him.

     "That may be true," Alsacia said, "but there are two scarves there. It's very unfair of you to keep us from even one of them, isn't it?" Everyone knew it wasn't really a matter of fairness; it was the point of the game to try to stop someone else from getting what they needed. But her words weren't meant to accuse, just to frustrate.

     "As fair as it is to have these goons scare a couple of girls," Janetta said. Her words betrayed her earlier toughness. She turned them against the two boys. "What sort of boys are you, doing what some girl tells you? Don't you have brains of your own?"

     The two of them just stood and smiled at her, unwavering, ready to do whatever Alsacia asked them to.

     "One last chance, girls." Alsacia stepped toward them. "Move or be moved."

     Janetta said nothing, and simply blinked.

     Alsacia shrugged. "Have it your way." The two boys firmly gripped Janetta and Tersa by the arms and easily moved them out of the way. Janetta squirmed with some force, but her movements were futile.

     "Hold them," said Alsacia. "Now. We'll wait here for whomever comes back with the Authority." She stepped toward Marco, who was intentionally avoiding eye contact with the girl. "Now, no one can untie a scarf until the Authority is here, right?"

     Marco nodded.

     "But it doesn't matter if _one team brings the Authority, and __another unties the scarf?"_

     Marco sighed. It was true; he'd only said that one had to precede the other, but never explicitly stated that two tasks had to be performed by the same team. He nodded again.

     "Thought so!" Janetta clapped her hands. "Alright. Once the Authority is here, Pam will untie a scarf. And you two…" – she was talking to Janetta and Tersa now – "will stay right here. I'm guessing the brick burners probably won't have the smarts to bring back the Authority, so that leaves the rest of your team." Alsacia had an idea that it would probably at least be Richie Costa who'd return with the Authority, given that the hen was to be taken from the Costa's tents, and also assumed that, like her team had done, most of the boys would be busy guarding against their opponents. That left either Bella or Serena to be the likely courier of the Authority, and Alsacia figured it would probably be Bella, given how close the Jeffries family was to the Costas.  

     "Here they come!" Pam had spotted Richie and Bella; they had just crossed the river and would be there in only minutes.

     She shouted to the others. "It's Bella Jeffries and Richie Costa!" Alsacia clapped her hands again, relishing her masterful deduction.

     Pam immediately made for the door handle, fingers placed on one of the expertly knotted scarves. She kept her eyes on the edge of the shed, waiting for the Authority.

     Bella and Richie moved steadily, and were now about fifty meters from the shed. Suddenly, Bella stopped.

     "What's wrong now?" Richie wheezed. "We're nearly there!"

     Bella looked around. She looked at the tanker. She looked at the various booths and tents. She even looked toward the shed.

     She saw nothing. And that was the problem.

     "Look around you, Richie. Does it seem like anyone's after us? Or hiding, even?" Richie scanned all that Bella had scanned. He came to the same conclusion.

     "It _has _been a little easy coming back this way," he conceded. "You think we'd've seen someone from the other team at least."

     "And no one's been chasing us outright…"

     Richie swallowed. "Well, they're one of two places. Tanker or shed."

     "I'm afraid to go either place," Bella admitted.

     "Well, since we have to go to the shed first, let's assume they're waiting for us." Neither of them could be certain, but erring on the side of caution was also a wise choice when playing Authority.

     "Alright," Bella said. "Which way do you think someone would be expecting to come from? The south side? It's the most concealed, and that's the side everyone usually arrives from. So we should go in from the north, and take them by surprise."

     Richie thought for a moment and agreed. "That makes sense. I think."

     "Let's try that then," Bella said, half-unsure herself. "And be ready for anything."

* * * * * * * * * *

     "So, you'll stay here, and _help our team get to the top?" Victor couldn't believe what he was hearing from Theo._

     "Not exactly. I'll help keep anyone that works on board the ship from stopping  anyone from your team. That's all I promise." Theo was up to something, that much was certain.

     Victor squinted at Theo. "So what do you want me to do?"

     "The same. If you see someone from my team headed this way, and someone else is trying to stop them…"

     "That doesn't make sense. I'd only be helping the other teams!"

     "But if we're both doing the same thing, it will balance out."

     Victor considered this for a moment. Did that make sense? He was running out of time to think.

     "Let's say I help you and you help me. What of it? Why should we help each other?"  
     "Well, the brick burners, for one." Even Theo knew how his and Bella's teams were at odds with them, and used that idea to try persuading Victor -- never mind that neither of them knew the Kovacs' and Straussens had already forfeited.

     "Go on," said Victor.

     "The other reason…well…it's a bit personal. I'm a bit embarrassed to say…"

     Victor had just about enough. "You'd better tell me, and fast, if you want me to even think of helping you."

     Theo had Victor right where he wanted him.

     "Well…it's Bella Jeffries." Theo turned suddenly candid with Victor. He was telling him his true feelings, but used them as pretense for his current plan. "I think Bella is a fine girl, Victor. And frankly, I have no intention of stopping her – or her team – from winning."

     "You'd sabotage your own team, then?" What sort of reputation would that give Theo with the others? Or Victor himself, for allowing such a thing?

     "I didn't say that," Theo replied. "See, I've already figured she's going to try to tie the Authority to the mast herself…"

     "How do you know that?" Victor realized that Theo may not have already known that part of the plan, but had only assumed it. And Victor had now revealed it, just as Theo had hoped he would.

     "Intuition," Theo replied. "Bella's got the experience and the smarts, and she seems the type to take charge." Victor chafed at the remark; what did that make him then? "I've never played Authority before," Theo continued,  "and I'm rather enjoying it. But I'm also…that is, I also have, I have real _feelings for… oh, never mind."_

     Victor wasn't sure what to make of what Theo was driving out. Young men their age rarely spoke of girls in such a way, so openly, and never with someone they'd only just met. He wanted to know more.

     "What is it, Theo? What's it all about?"

     "Well," said Theo, "I know how much Authority means to you and everyone else. Bella too. And I know that she'd want to win more than anything. I might sound crazy, but I don't care if our team wins or not. There! I said it. I wouldn't say so to the others—"

     "And well you shouldn't!" said Victor, astonished but still intrigued by Theo's openness.

     "But if there's anything I can do to at least make Bella's chances better…then maybe…"

     Victor thought he understood; he was hearing Theo say that he was taken withBella, had _feelings_ for her, and that by letting her win she'd be happy, and he wanted to see her happy, and that's all he really cared about. He repeated this back to Theo. "Is that about all of it?"

     "Precisely! You've nailed it, Victor. So…what do you say?"

     Victor was very unsure. It seemed like such a risky maneuver. And if it failed, what would he say to his team? Had anyone who'd ever played Authority before encountered such a proposal, let alone accepted? Two teams helping one another, creating a hypothetical stalemate? But how could that be? For the moment, it made sense, but he wished he had more time to consider the full implications of what Theo was asking. Victor sized up Theo one more time, calculating his chances against him if the two of them engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Victor liked his chances. And as Bella was his friend, he couldn't pass up an offer to help her and the team _win, strange as the method Theo proposed had sounded. Besides, Victor needed to help Bella and Richie anyway, and he had a better chance of keeping the Authority out of enemy hands on the ground than up on the deck of that bloody tanker._

     "What do you make of it?" Phaedra whispered in Victor's ear. "Can we trust him?" Phaedra knew Victor had a tendency to act impulsively in tense situations – it's what made him such a winning team captain – but this time was different.

     "It's a deal," Victor said to Theo. "Here." He took off his cap and gave it to Theo. "Put this on. You'll blend in better. And there's an older fellow who wanted me to lend him a hand with some cargo. You'll have him to deal with. He'll come lookin' for me, and he'll see you, and try recruitin' you too."

     "I'll take care of him," Theo said. Victor found some discomfort in the way Theo said that.

     "Someone's already interfered with our plans, and I'm going to see what it's about. If it's your team that's done it, I can't promise I'll hold back in stopping them."

     "Then I can't promise that I'll stop those who'd interfere with _your_ team," Theo said. "Then were would we be?"

     Victor frowned, but he felt helpless to do anything else. He shook his head and made his way down the rope ladder. Once on the ground, he and Phaedra made for the shed as fast as they could go.

     What Victor didn't know, aside from Theo's true intentions, was that Theo and his daemon Hera had been spying on him for the last several minutes. He'd heard Victor's encounter with the old man, seen him give the signal to Bella and Richie, and was now planning on using this information to his advantage.

     As soon as Victor left, Theo opened one of the crates of corn and took a few ears for himself. Now that he'd secured a few ears for his team, he set about making it impossible for the other team to do the same.

     Theo made straight for the main hold of the ship. He hoped to find much of the crew there. And he did. Most of them were preparing for the ship's impending departure.

     He stepped up onto the tallest crate he could find, cupped his hands to his mouth, and shouted at the men.

     "Listen up, you filthy sods! Just had an order come in for two hundred crates o' corn, and we best deliver lickety-split! Everything up top, and anything you can spare down here!"

     There were two dozen men in the hold, all of which stood a full head taller than Theo. But his enhanced height and arresting words gave them a moment's pause.

     One of the larger shiphands step forward, looking like he was ready to crush Theo with his bare hands. "Who the hell are you, and what's this racket about two hundred crates? I ain't never seen you before!" The other men grumbled accordingly. Who was this nasty young fellow, and why was he shouting orders at them?

     The older man that Victor encountered earlier spoke up. His eyesight was failing, as well as his hearing, and seeing the cap on Theo, thought it was Victor.

     "Oh, I seen 'em earlier," the man said. "He's an alright bloke. Just started today. Ain't none o' you seen him?" The others shrugged and shook their heads, but they'd apparently always trusted the old man at this word, and weren't going to stop now. 

     The old man went on. "He was just about to help me with them barrels of corn."

     Barrels of_ corn? Theo found that to be a rather nice surprise. It was going better than he'd hoped._

     "That's right," Theo went on. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll get the rest of what's up top off this bleedin' tanker, pronto!"

     The old man scratched his head. "I thought we only had just the few barrels, for one of the gyptian families down river. You sayin' there's more?"

     Theo was ready for an even larger bluff. "'Course there's more! Didn't you just hear? A certain someone here at the fair just purchased the whole lot of it, and they mean to have it before we leave! I don't care if you break your sorry backs doin' it!"

     Theo, of course, didn't have any particular 'certain someone' in mind, but assumed the workers would all think of someone at the fair who had a lot of money, and believe that that certain someone had just ordered all the corn on the ship and wanted it immediately.

     The old man turned to the rest of the workers. "The Aldridge's must've put in an order! They've got a stable 'round here, I think!" He turned back to Theo, who was still fully in character. "They want it taken there_?_ _Now?"_

     Theo huffed at the man. "You know how the Aldridge's can be!" Theo thought he'd heard of some wealthy businessman by that name, but nothing more specific than that. "They want it now, and they want it their way! I ain't likin' it any more'n the rest o' you blokes, but an order's an order, and I don't want to leave tonight with a rich, unhappy customer! Any of you feel that way?"

     The men looked at one another, once again muttering to themselves. No, they didn't want to lose a high-paying customer either. Theo feared they'd ask how much was being offered for the corn, but no one did. Perhaps they associated the name Aldridge with regularly satisfying payment, and that was fine with Theo.

     The old man puffed out his chest at the men, his owl daemon impatiently flapping its great wings. "Well, don't stand there starin' at the ground! Get those crates gone, and quick! We leave in twenty minutes!" The men set about their unpleasant task. Theo conveniently disappeared, hiding back up top on deck behind a few barrels of heating oil.

     _How am I doing so far, Bella?_

* * * * * * * * * *

     Victor was now twenty meters from the shed, and what made him gasp for breath. Bella and Richie were nearly to the shed themselves, moving slowly but too close to be safe. How to get their attention?

     "Phaedra, you've got to stop them."

     Authority's rules never precluded the use of one's daemon from assisting a team, but, as was the way in Bella's world, one's daemon did not always speak to another person unless the circumstances were extreme. This was one of those situations.

     Without a reply, Phaedra changed into a peregrine falcon and darted after the two children. As she approached, she let out a piercing screech. Better to get their attention this way then to call out their names.

     Bella and Richie whipped around to see Phaedra heading straight for them. They both recoiled, not knowing whose daemon it might be. Just as Phaedra reached them she changed back into a marmoset and plopped onto the ground in front of them. They knew it was Phaedra instantly.

     "You have to stop," Phaedra said. "The townies are waiting for you on the other side."

     The two children exchanged glances. They'd guessed right. Ramses and Richie's daemon Alma moved close to Phaedra, each of them sniffing and moving around one another. "How far is Victor from here?" Bella asked.

     "Not far," Phaedra said. The children looked in the direction Phaedra came from. They could now see him running as fast as he could, ducking and weaving through the stream of humans and daemons.

     He finally arrived, out of breath. Phaedra was a bit tired for it, but could speak for the winded Victor. "We saw Alsacia where Janetta should have been and knew that something might be wrong. We had to warn you."

     Bella was pleased Victor had made the effort, but a new question came to mind. "But you're supposed to be guarding—"

     "We were with Theo just now on the tanker," Phaedra said.

     Victor regained the power of speech. "I'm sorry, Bella, but we had to come warn you. He said he'd try to keep any of the ship workers from stopping one of our team. I promised I'd do the same for Theo if it came up."

     Now Richie was concerned. "But you said you saw Alsacia by the shed."

     "That's right. And then Theo appeared and—"

     A look of embarrassed realization came over Victor's face, as looks of despair spread across Bella's and Richie's. How did he not see it? Victor assumed that Theo didn't know he'd seen Alsacia by the shed, and if he'd thought more about it, he'd have realized that Theo very likely orchestrated the whole thing.

     "I'm so sorry, you two," Victor said, ashamed. He'd never quite encountered a situation like this in all the times he'd played Authority. This Theo was definitely a contender.

     "What's done is done, Victor." Bella wanted to comfort her friend, but was too perturbed by the news to show him much compassion.

     "Well, if we're being waited for," Richie said, "there are probably more of them than there are of us. Do you think Tersa and Janetta are still guarding the scarves?"

     Victor nodded. "That might be. I didn't see her before, so maybe she went to help Tersa."

     Bella shook her head. "No, we still have to assume the worst. As far as we're concerned, Janetta and Tersa are outbounded." _Outbounded_ was a common Authority term for any competitor who is kept from actively participating against their own will. Richie nodded in agreement, as did Victor.

     "If we can't overpower them, we'll have to outthink them," Victor said. "Though I've done enough thinking for one day."

     "Or not enough," chided Bella.

     Victor smirked. "I intend to make up for it." Just then, Luis and Xavier appeared by the group, just returning from the encounter by the trees that helped Richie and Bella obtain the Authority. They looked at Victor with confusion.

     "What are you doing down here?" Xavier asked nervously. There was no time to catch up on all the details.

     "It's a long story," Bella said. "We're thinking of a way to get the scarves. The townies are guarding them." Xavier and Luis understood and nodded.

     Victor noticed Luis was wearing a backsatchel for carrying assorted goods. "Luis, can I see your satchel?"

     "Sure," Luis said. "What, are you thinking of using it for something?"

     Victor took the Authority cage from Richie and held it next to Luis' satchel. There were roughly the same size…

     "Yes…this'll work brilliantly!" Victor could feel redemption just around the corner.

     Luis and the others were puzzled. "What do you want to do with it? And it has all my things still in it, don't forget that!"

     "Oh, they'll be safe," Victor assured him.  "I think I know what we could do, and we'd better hurry…those townies are expecting us. But first," he said to Bella, "you're going to need my jacket."

* * * * * * * * * *

     "Where did they disappear to?" Alsacia was getting impatient. "Didn't you say you just saw them, Pam?"

     Pam was still hunched by the scarves, her fingers and back starting to cramp in anticipation. "I saw them, alright. Maybe they went another way?"

     Alsacia paced. She couldn't afford sending anyone out to see where Bella and Richie had gone. 

     "My fingers hurt," Pam said softly.

     "Well, you're the best one with knots, so you'll have to wait." Alsacia wasn't ordinarily this cold to her friends, but when it came to Authority, she pulled no punches.

     "Here it is, Janetta! I've got the Author—" Richie Costa suddenly appeared, and stopped dead in his tracks. He was right where the townies wanted him. He wasn't, however, accompanied by Bella Jeffries. Alsacia didn't seem to mind, though. She was only interested in what was in Richie's hands.

     "Your teammates are busy, Richie Costa. Can I help you with anything?" Alsacia was proud of how the plan was unfolding. Sure, Theo had come up with most of the ideas, but no one had to know that. She was in control here and now. "She can start untying now, right, Marco?"

     Marco sighed and looked up. Yes, the Authority had arrived, and the scarves could now officially be removed. But before he gave her an affirmative answer, he caught a glimpse of the cage Richie was holding. If he didn't know any better, he could see some of his friend Luis' polished stones peeking through a small tear in the cage cover.

     "Absolutely," Marco answered. Alsacia then nodded to Pam, who started untying the top scarf.

     Richie appeared flabbergasted, though not completely so. He had to look panicky; he knew that _looking afraid would tempt the boys in Alsacia's charge to take the Authority from him. Richie opened his eyes wide and stammered. _

     "Y-y-you'll have to catch me first!" He dashed off, back the way he'd arrived, and the two boys who'd been holding Janetta and Tersa let go and gave chase.

     "Wait! Only one of you!" But the two boys couldn't hear her command, and Alsacia  stood there alone trying to collect her thoughts. As soon as they were released, Janetta and Tersa were at the scarves, with Tersa's fingers frenetically working at the tightly-bound fabric of the second scarf.

     "Now this is more like it," Janetta said to Alsacia.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Lionel Parslow and Max Goddard kept a low profile. They'd been with Theo most of the time, keeping watch of the tanker's two main points of access. Lionel was at the edge of the tanker ramp, watching the ship's hustling workers rush to complete some delivery. Max waited shiftily near the rope ladder. Both were waiting for one of their teammates to arrive, preferably with a scarf-affixed Authority.

     Bella advanced swiftly through the crowd. She was now wearing Luis' backsatchel, as well as Victor's jacket. She tried to keep her movements steady and smooth as she made her way to the edge of the tanker's ramp, and right up to Lionel Parslow. She looked frightened.     

     "Lionel! Good, good…I found you. It's not too late." She was on the verge of tears, it seemed. Something had spooked her, but Lionel was a little wary of her sudden appearance.

     "What's that you say? Something frighten you?"

     "Lionel, where's your father? He didn't come to the Fair today, did he?"

     Lionel gave her a sidelong glance. "No…he's at home, as far as I know."

     "Are you sure? Truly sure? I swear I saw him over by the…oh, no, never mind. Probably nothing. I'm always nervous like that."

     Lionel knew full well that Bella _never appeared nervous when she played Authority. But she _was_ supposed to have gone to the Costa's tent to get the Authority…_

     "Should you have nabbed that hen yet, Bella? Or did our team beat you to it?"

     "Actually, yes!"

     Lionel wasn't expecting _that answer. What luck!_

     "And that's what has me worried…you see, I'd heard someone from your team got the Authority…Gavin, I think…anyway, Richie and I had stopped to talk for a moment about how easily Gavin had done it…and that's when I heard your fa—well, _someone_—call my name! I was afraid they'd overheard us or something."

     Now she had Lionel's full attention. Lionel's father Simon knew that Lionel was friends with his friend Lyra's daughter Bella, and also knew of some secret game the children played.

     "Where did this happen?" Lionel wasn't taking chances.

     "Don't worry, really! I was probably hearing things. Well, good luck!" And with that, Bella simply walked away, leaving Lionel with more questions and no answers for them. 

* * * * * * * * * *

     It was Tersa who finished untying her scarf first; Pam was having too much difficulty with Alsacia standing over her saying things like "The Authority's getting away!" and "It's all up to you now!" Tersa grabbed the scarf and ran off with Janetta, both feeling sorry for poor Pam…though not _too_ sorry.

     "How are we supposed to find Richie?" Tersa said as she ran. "I think they went toward the river, but—"

     "You're not looking for Richie," Victor said, catching up with the girls. "He hasn't got the Authority. Bella does."

     Janetta and Tersa's eyes bulged at the astounding news. "Richie was carrying a decoy?" Janetta said.

     "Well, did you ever actually _see the Authority underneath that covering?" Victor chuckled. Tersa and Janetta hugged Victor thankfully._

     "So, where's Bella then? Alsacia'll have the other scarf soon…but then again, they think Richie's the one they need to get!"

     "Right," said Victor. "Bella's this way. Come on!" And the boy and two girls headed for the tanker, moving one step closer to the end of the game.

* * * * * * * * * *

     "Lionel? Lionel, where are you, son?"

     The voice of Simon Parslow was coming from somewhere near the tanker dock, but Lionel couldn't place it. All he knew was that it seemed very close. Lionel did not know, however, that the same young man who'd perfectly mimicked the voice of Ma Costa earlier that day was also perfectly mimicking the voice of Lionel's father Simon. Young as he was, Luis had a talent for spot-on vocal impersonation, and had  practiced impersonations of several of his friends' (and rivals') parents and relatives all year, hoping it would come in handy during this year's round of Authority.

     "Have you taken something of the Costas, Lionel? I just want to talk to you!"

     Where was that voice coming from? Lionel didn't care anymore. He left his post and found Max hiding near the rope ladder.

     "My father's here, Max! He's looking for me!" He'd grabbed Max's sleeve and carried him away before Max had time to respond.

     The tanker entrances were now clear. Bella watched as Lionel and Max departed, and was ready to board the tanker herself.

     "Here it is," Tersa said, who was crouching behind some nearby shrubbery with Janetta and Victor. "Hurry and tie it on!"

     "No," Bella said. "I'll tie it to the mast first, then the Authority."

     Victor agreed with Bella. "If you did it now, and the Authority escaped…then you've just lost two of the winning pieces." 

     "Of course, the Authority _won't escape. It's __me, after all." Bella had been supremely careful in transferring the sleeping hen from the cage to the satchel, hiding behind the shrubbery and using Victor's jacket as a cover from the light._

     Janetta looked at the mast. To her, the platform at the top seemed rather small. Most of the older corn tankers didn't have masts, but the newer ones did, and gave the tanker operators a better downriver view to help in avoiding collisions. "You sure that'll be enough room for you?" Janetta said. Bella would have to use the jacket once more at the top of the mast, to keep the Authority from awakening while tying the other end of the scarf to one of the mast's support bars.

     "It'll have to do," Bella said. "I'll take the jacket off once I'm at the base, and tie it around my waist. If the Authority wakes up before I get to the top, I'll try grabbing on of its legs through a hole in the satchel. Marco's rules didn't say it couldn't be in a satchel, did they?"

     The children nodded and wished her good luck. Bella approached the rope ladder and started to climb.

     When she reached the top, she was surprised at how bare the deck seemed. No crates, few barrels, and no workers. _No workers? _

     Somewhere below, a hearty male voice boomed throughout the cargo hold. "Five minutes, gentlemen. Make haste!"

     _Five minutes. Here's where you prove yourself, Bella._

     She stopped at the base of the mast and gently removed the satchel. Ramses, who'd stayed in one form of bird or another for the last half-hour, watched for shiphands and spies. He saw several men hauling barrels and crates off the tanker. In the meantime, Bella had tied Victor's jacket around her waist and put the satchel on her back once more. She started to ascend the mast's rungs as Ramses patrolled the area.

     "Looks like they're just about finished unloading the ship," Ramses reported to Bella. "We should be safe for now."

     "With only five minutes, we'll need to leave no matter what." Bella continued her climb. Halfway to the top, Ramses' words fully sank in. _Unloading the ship?_ She looked down and understood her new problem. No corn to be found anywhere on the corn tanker. No ear to take back! Ramses realized it just as soon as she had.

     "This fouls things up a bit," her daemon quipped. "Shall I see if a stray ear is lying about?" He'd considered flying down to the one of the crates that were being taken ashore, but feared he'd have to stray too far from Bella in order to do it.

     "Yes, but hurry, Ram!" Her daemon started his frantic search as she quickly completed her ascent.

     She reached the top, and the platform was larger than it had appeared from land. Plenty of room to work. She repeated the removal of the satchel and jacket from her body, and strategically draped the jacket over herself, the satchel and the scarf. As gently as possible, Bella opened the satchel. With even greater finesse, she cradled the silent hen in her hands. She would have to tie the scarf to the hen's leg in almost total darkness. It was hot under the jacket, and the fear of being caught in so conspicuous a place brought anxious sweat to her brow and hands.

     Bella closed her eyes. It was easier for her this way; better to imagine where the hen was in relation to the scarf than strain to see in the balmy lightlessness of the jacket's cover.

     She pulled the ends of the scarf lightly until the firmness of the completed knot was felt. Almost finished. She scooted herself and the hen closer to the mast's main pole, and tied the other end of the scarf to a crossbar connecting the pole to the platform.

     As she completed the final knot, she lifted the jacket just enough so she could clearly see the hen's tail feathers. As she looked for one to pluck, nagging feelings of guilt and shame crept into her mind. She knew this hen would probably be alright, unless one of the tanker workers caught it and decided to…no, that wouldn't happen, would it? And it was not just any hen, but _Ma Costa's_ hen. She was just as much a hen-thief as Richie had made the brick burners out to be. She'd put such thoughts out of her head all day, because this was _Authority after all, and the ends always justified the means. At least, they always had before. But Bella wasn't so sure anymore. Why was she feeling this way all of a sudden? She wished she hadn't chosen herself to perform this task, wished that Marco hadn't put her in this position. No, Marco wasn't to blame; she could have asked anyone else to climb up the mast. She felt she had… something to prove…to someone…_

     _Have I been wanting to impress Theo?_ She thought she'd said the words aloud, and jolted a bit as she checked the hen to see if she'd awakened it.

     She asked herself again. Yes, that's it. Sure, Marco had chosen her to lead the team, but she'd given herself all the most difficult tasks, the ones with the greatest responsibility.  And what had truly made her nervous was the fear that she'd lose and, therefore, look foolish in the eyes of Theo. How silly to think so! And yet…it didn't seem so silly after all. Bella felt conflicted as never before.

     An angry voice from below cut into her thoughts.

     "You there! Child! You come down from there! What are you doing up there, little girl?"

     Bella panicked. She threw off the jacket and plucked a tail feather from the Authority in one awkward movement. The hen opened its eyes, awakening in a fit of frenzied clucking. Now Bella felt truly guilty.

     _I promise I'll get you down when this is over!_  

     Bella looked down to see one of the ship workers climbing up after her. With nowhere to go but down, Bella started descending the mast on the side opposite the worker; she might be able to get past him that way. Ramses helped Bella by pestering the ascending figure, fighting their bird daemon off as best he could. Bella's feet approached the worker's hands.

     Suddenly, Ramses ceased his attack, and landed on Bella's shoulder.

     "Bella! That's no worker!"

     Ramses had recognized the other daemon. It was Hera.

     "Enough already!" shouted Theo. "Please, I don't want to fall!"

     Bella gasped. _Theo? Was that his voice? And I thought Luis was the only one I knew who was good at pretending to be someone else!_

     Bella crawled down, careful not to step on Theo's hands. He was wearing Victor's cap. They stood on opposite sides of the mast, staring at one another, not sure what to say.

     "Hi, Theo," said Bella.

     "Hello, yourself," he replied. They kept staring and simply smiled. 

     Bella was at a lost to explain with she was feeling. He must have had something to do with the business with the crates, and no doubt was behind all of his team's other actions… is there anything he couldn't do? Admiration, apprehension, envy, infatuation. Bella felt them all at once.

     _And he almost beat me. No…he hasn't beaten me yet! But…do I really want him to win? Do I want to win, for that matter?_ Bella did not know.  

      "Looks like we each have something the other wants," Theo said. Bella took a moment to understand what he meant. In her left hand was the feather; poking out of Theo's jacket was the only remaining ear of corn.

     "Does this mean it's a draw?" she said.

     "Is that allowed in Authority?" said Theo.

     "Well, Marco never said there couldn't be one." She winked at him. 

     Bella so badly wanted to stand there forever with him on the mast, staring at him, feeling him staring back at her. There had once been a time when she couldn't speak easily to Theo, but she now had endless things to say to him, and wanted to say them all now.

     "You're very good at this game," she said.

     Theo ducked his head modestly. "I'm just lucky, I suppose. And every once in a while, I'll have a clever thought. At least I think my thoughts can be clever."

     "Oh, they can be, Mr. Henry Loyal Regatta."

     Theo laughed. "Would you believe that I convinced all the workers on board to get rid of every bit of corn they had?" Bella did.

     "You've just full of surprises, aren't you?"

     "You haven't done so badly yourself. After all, you _did_ get the Authority away from that Ma Costa and your mother, didn't you?"

     Bella giggled. "Well, I had a bit of help. And luck had something to do with it. And if it hadn't been for Robert Kovacs, I would never had pulled it off. Too bad his team forfeited."

     "They did what?"

     "Yeah. I guess you could say I had something to do with it." Bella was making more out of it than really happened, but there was just enough truth in her words to be used as something else to impress Theo with.

     "You were right. You are good at this game."

     "Think you'll play again next year, Mr. Balfour?"

     "Only if I get to be on your team."

     "But if I win, then I won't be on anyone's team, will I?"

     "And if I win, I won't either."

     "Then maybe it should end in a tie after all."

     "But who would have turf rights for next year?"

     Bella couldn't begin to guess what effect a tie would have on who controlled the area.

     "Maybe they'll share?" she said. They both laughed at the improbability such a thing happening. "Let's not worry about it. I'm sure it will all get sorted out."

     "Maybe. But what I do is that I don't think I like the idea of not being teammates."

     "Oh no, me neither. Dreadful idea!"

     The two children laughed. Ramses and Hera had become a squirrel and lemur, respectively, and playfully chased one another up and down the mast.

     "We should probably get down from here, and soon," suggested Bella.

     "After you, Ms. Jeffries." Theo made a gracious gesture with his hand, and Bella lead the way down the mast to the ship's deck. Theo followed, and the two of them climbed down the rope ladder just before the ship's scheduled departure time.

     At the bottom of the ladder were all of the children from the two remaining teams, intermingling and ready to… do what, exactly? They didn't know what to make of Theo and Bella. She still held the feather in her left hand; he held the last ear of corn in his right hand. What really caught the children's attention, though, was that not only were they holding the winning objects of the game, but that they were also holding one another's hands.

     The two of them walked calmly back to the shed where Marco was waiting patiently. The other children did nothing, said nothing, because they couldn't think of any appropriate way to respond. Xavier considered lunging for the corn, and Alsacia contemplated making a grab for the feather, but the look on Bella and Theo's faces kept the befuddled children at bay.

     Marco stood. "First," he said, "I need to verify if the Authority is secured." He moved as far as the rope would let him and looked toward the mast. He pulled a small spyglass from one of his many pockets and peered through it at the mast's platform. Sure enough, he could see a confused hen, white all over with some black on the tail, tied to the mast by one of the scarves. He turned to Bella and Theo. "The feather and the corn?"

     "Here you are," Bella said to Marco. She and Theo laid the items down simultaneously at Marco's feet. "I'm afraid it's a tie." About half the children hollered and stamped their feet in displeasure, while the other half smiled quietly and said nothing.  "I don't know how this will affect the turf rights for the following year, and we're sorry if we've let anyone down. But…"

     She looked at Theo, who was stood firmly by her, and carried on.

     "But…we didn't see there was any other choice. We're sorry." She turned to the crowd of children. "We're sorry."

     Marco considered the two items placed before him, and thought for a moment while the others remained silent. "Well," he said, "the first thing I'll say is that, given we have two first place teams, we have only one losing team, and that would be the brick burners." He found he was rather pleased with this turn of events, but still had no idea of how to settle the turf issue.

     "But the brick burners already forfeited," Theo said. No one else knew this, but given what had just happened, no one showed any surprise. "So there are no real losers, right?"

     Some of the children grumbled at this, while others began to perk up. Alsacia stepped in.

     "That won't stop us from giving them what they deserve!" she said. All the children cheered. "Let's find 'em!"

     Marco beamed. "I declare that we find them, and have a full-scale battle. Who wants to lead the way?" Many hands raised all at once. 

     "I think they headed back to their home," Richie Costa said. His words went unheard, for most of the children had already departed. Richie untied Marco, who was ready to join the pursuit, and the two boys left, leaving Bella and Theo alone by the shed.

     Bella stepped away and sat down on the stump, tired from the day's activities but with her heart pounding hard against her chest. "I bet they'll all end up in one of the old battles my mother used to have. Not like the way things are done now."

      She patted the ground next to her. "Let's sit for a while," she said. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."

     Theo stepped toward her, but did not sit. Instead, he knelt by her, his face close to hers.

     "You look just fine to me."

     Bella blushed. "So do you."

     And before she knew what was happening, Bella Jeffries was kissing a boy for the first time. She'd always wondered what it would be like, and only now realized that from the moment she'd met Theo that she'd wished he'd be the first to kiss her. She gently held the back of his head in her hand, as he did the same to her, their lips coursing with sensation they'd only before imagined. Ramses, as a rabbit, and Hera, as a setter,  cuddled against one another in the dewy grass nearby.

     Softly Bella and Theo pulled apart, and Bella looked into Theo's eyes. She'd only heard what being in love was like, and wasn't sure if this was it, but felt it had to be something very close.

     "I'm not as tired as I thought I was," she said breathlessly.

     "Me neither," said Theo. "What shall we do now?"

     Bella wanted to stay there at the stump, kissing Theo, but knew she'd need to get going to meet up with her mother in time. _Oh, will I be able to tell Mother about this? Will she ask me? I hope she says nothing…_

     "About an hour till sundown," said Theo. "Care to take a walk?"

     "That would be wonderful," said Bella, as Theo extended his hand and helped her off of the stump.

     The two children took a leisurely stroll, hand in hand, along the banks of the river, nearly forgetting about the hectic events of the day, trading stories of amazing personal feats and hilarious moments they'd been too embarrassed to admit to anyone else before.

     "I'm glad you had fun today," Bella said, as Theo kissed her on the cheek.

* * * * * * * * * *

     As they walked, they could hear two men heatedly arguing over an accidental delivery of two hundred crates full of corn. And, as it turned out, the corn tanker did not leave on time. An old gyptian woman and the headmistress of St. Mary's School for Young People had spoken to the ship's captain, explaining that the old woman's prize hen had been tied to the top of the observation mast. No grievance would be filed, and the two women even offered to get the hen down themselves.

     A pine marten gnawed at the scarf that held Ma Costa's hen hostage. "I wish you were a daemon," Pantalaimon said to the frightened hen. "At least then you'd understand that I'm only trying to help."


	6. The Trail in the Dark

CHAPTER SIX: THE TRAIL IN THE DARK 

Pa'Rin and Rymar were cold. The sun had not set long ago, but already the temperature outside had dropped considerably. Pa'Rin huddled under Rymar's left wing for warmth.

     The two hid behind a long row of jirsin bushes that bordered the property of her home. Pa'Rin's neighborhood sat at the base of rolling green foothills covered with jirsin and reiberry bushes. The bushes were regularly used by farmers as windbreaks for their crops, and were more than tall enough to conceal Pa'Rin and Rymar from the sight of the intruders inside her home.

     "Do you see Mother and Father?" whispered Pa'Rin. They were thirty feet from her house. They could see that the curtains had been drawn shut, but a light from inside cast revealing shadows against them. Pa'Rin struggled to make out the silhouettes of her parents but could not. She counted at least four figures within the house, all large with unnaturally broad shoulders.

     Rymar became restless. This was his home, too, and though he'd never been inside the house, he understood that the house was where his masters lived. He also knew that whomever was inside was trespassing. He inched forward. Pa'Rin could sense his desire to protect Agran and Leital.

     "No, Ry! We can't. Not yet. They might harm Mother and Father if they see us. And you are too big to go inside the house." Pa'Rin wanted to rush to her parents, but felt that she alone would be no match for the intruders. Though, if she could lure them out of the house somehow…

     _No! That's what they must be thinking,_ Pa'Rin reasoned. _are creating a trap! What if Mother and Father are not inside? Do they expect me to come after them, or make them come out of the house? I wish I knew._

_     Something occurred to Pa'Rin.__ The scream she had heard earlier – it sounded like Pa'Rin's mother -- was a scream not of fright or panic, but of someone attempting to escape, or crying for help…  _

     Then why were no neighbors coming to their rescue?

     Pa'Rin glanced at a few of the neighboring houses. No lights were on inside or out. No activity in the streets. How could that be? It had only just turned dark. Where had everyone gone? The stillness of the neighborhood filled Pa'Rin with sickening dread.

     Rymar settled down, but his breathing remained intense. Pa'Rin looked at her stained wooden sword and wondered if it would make much of a weapon against the intruders. She considered snapping it in half, creating two shorter pieces with jagged ends.

     She read the symbols that her father helped her burn into the wood of the sword with his searing needle. They spelled out the name Grevo M'Rais, the hero of the battle of Lake Hyllaro, as well as the name of his heroic tralion Shomril, and the names of his lieutenants. And then Pa'Rin remembered.

     _The festival!_

     Tonight was the vernal Festival of M'Rais, one of the holidays established in the hero's honor. Each holiday, gatherings were held in the great village lodges throughout Kaasitar province; there was food and drink, singing and dancing, and several stories told about the famous hero. Everyone attended the gatherings…all except Pa'Rin's parents. They celebrated at home, not wanting to risk leaving Pa'Rin alone. They couldn't take her with them – not to a location with so much noise and so many people. Agran and Leital's commitment to protect Pa'Rin, she realized, had restricted her parents' freedoms as well.

     Whomever was in Pa'Rin's house at the moment knew her parents would be home and not at the festival, and also knew that no one would be around to hear or see their struggle. The thought unsettled Pa'Rin even more.

     Rymar tensed up again. He saw something. Pa'Rin squinted at the backlit curtains. She could see one of the figures pointing at the ground and saying something…to someone…and another figure stood behind the pointing figure…and they were holding something…what was it? A weapon? It was hard to tell, but the second figure was waving it menacingly.

     Suddenly, the shadow of the head of another figure popped up for a moment near the bottom of the window. It was whomever the standing figure was talking to. Pa'Rin thought it might have been her father.

     The second figure shoved the floor-bound figure back down. Pa'Rin put her hand to her mouth, gasping. The first figure turned to the others with him, motioning with great arms and saying something to them. Pa'Rin clung to her tralion helplessly.        A few moments later, three men in bulky, leathery armor emerged from Pa'Rin's home. They began scouring the yard and surrounding property.

     _They are still looking for me. _

     Rymar drove his claws into the ground, stifling his instinct to strike. He whined quietly, plaintively, hoping Pa'Rin would give him permission to protect her family.

     Pa'Rin was struck by how fearsome the men appeared. Their faces were painted black, obscuring their features, and their armor was a combination of metal and padded, hardened material covered in some sort of blackened hide…as if it had been dyed or covered with dark polish. It was unlike anything Pa'Rin had seen before. 

     The men moved swiftly, overturning harvest bins and opening equipment sheds, searching for her. Suddenly, the men started toward Pa'Rin and Rymar. They did not seem to see the girl and the tralion hiding the bushes, and were not coming at them purposefully, but Pa'Rin knew she and Rymar would soon be found.

     "Don't move," Pa'Rin said to Rymar. But Rymar could not obey her.

     Before the three men knew what was happening, the tralion was on top of them. They were so close to one another that Rymar was able to tackle them all at once. His weight crushed the ribcage of one man, despite his heavy armor, and the impact of Rymar's right paw broke the neck of the second man. The third man, who had a brief moment to attempt to scramble away, had his back broken by Rymar's left paw. None of them had a chance to cry out.

     Pa'Rin stood in the bushes, shivering. Did Rymar just do what she thought she'd seen him do?

     Rymar stepped off of the defeated men and sniffed the air. He looked around to see if anymore intruders were nearby. He found none. He quietly crawled back to Pa'Rin in the bushes.

     Pa'Rin backed away from him.

     She had never seen Rymar attack anyone, and certainly not with the efficient ferocity she had just witnessed. She knew Rymar would never do that to her, and that those men _were _trying to harm her and her parents, after all. But she had never seen a human killed before, and not by a tralion, and not by a tralion she had come to call her friend. She did not know what to make of it.

     Rymar sensed Pa'Rin's apprehension. He too was confused. He knew she told him not to attack, but the men were coming right after them, weren't they? They had to be stopped. Rymar could see Pa'Rin's stricken expression. She was in shock.

     The tralion felt he had done a terrible thing. Yes, he had potentially saved Pa'Rin, but he had also disobeyed her. He had _never_ disobeyed her before. Everything she had ever asked him to do resulted in something positive. He trusted her. But he couldn't understand why she didn't want him to attack. Did she not see the men coming? Was she too afraid to say or do anything? His mind could not reconcile the contradiction. But he knew he had upset her, and had upset her greatly.

     He settled on the ground, laying his head on the dark leafy earth behind the wall of bushes. He did not look at Pa'Rin. He squinted his eyes and began whimpering softly. It was the same way he whimpered when he and Pa'Rin first met, when he thought she had died from the fall off of the roof of her house. His eyes glistened sadly in the darkness.

     Pa'Rin's shock dissipated slightly as she watched Rymar. She was still caught up in the vision of the three men being felled so swiftly, but was beginning to focus on Rymar's demeanor. He was ashamed of what he'd done, and she sensed it. He'd never had reason to attack like this before, and he had never gone against Pa'Rin's wishes before, either. He was afraid Pa'Rin would stop being his friend. He turned away from her just a bit.

     Pa'Rin sensed Rymar was distressed. He had not shown any pleasure in what he did to the men. _He was just defending me,_ she thought. _He was protecting me. He cares for me. _But he was so fast, so strong, so…violent. But Rymar was large – he was a _tralion__ of course. She'd never thought of him as an animal capable of such things. But he _was _such an animal, and this incident was an intense reminder._

     _He would never do that to me, _she told herself over and over. _He loves me. And he would only ever do this to protect me._

     She stepped cautiously toward Rymar, who could hear her advancing. He did not look up at her, but instead rolled over onto his back, as they did when they played. It was a submissive position, showing her that she had nothing to fear. She stopped for a moment as he did this. He continued whimpering.

     Pa'Rin moved next to Rymar and sat down on the ground. She patted his belly lightly, stroking the light scales of his stomach, trying to calm both him and herself. She looked up at his paws and could see the blood of the men on them. She stopped stroking him.

     Rymar looked up at her, wondering why she had stopped. He saw that she was looking at his paws. He rolled away from her, concealing the offending stains, and tried rubbing the blood off of his paws and onto the ground.

     Pa'Rin stood up and moved toward the edge of the bushes, momentarily leaving Rymar to himself. She poked her head through the bushes and grudgingly gazed upon the heap of men only a few feet away. She didn't _want to look at them, but was compelled to somehow. She couldn't ignore them._

     She looked closely at their bodies, the surprised looks on their painted faces, the odd angles their bodies now laid at. She observed their strange armor; she'd never seen or heard anything quite like it before, not in any books she'd read or lessons her parents had taught her – though she knew well enough that there were many things in her world she did not know anything about. The texture of the armor caught her attention.

     It was scaly. Like tralion hide.

     It appeared that the padded sections of their armor were covered in a generous layer of blackened tralion hide, treated to give the scaly surface even greater strength. It was uncommon for tralion hide to be used in such a way; ever since the Battle of Lake Hyllaro and the valiant feat of Grevo M'Rais' tralion Shomril, it was understood that no tralion should ever be harmed or killed for any human use; tralions should be kept alive and may only be used for labor, but not for food or creation of products. It was not, however, against the law to use tralion hide for such a purpose, but it was terribly unspeakable to do so and its use was not openly admitted.

     _These were evil men,_ Pa'Rin thought. Rymar's actions made even more sense. He had apparently recognized the type of hide the men wore and couldn't help but react.

     Pa'Rin ran back through the bushes where Rymar was still lying and whimpering. She crouched close to his neck and hugged him. Rymar stopped his crying, relieved that she was still his friend.

     She lifted his great floppy left ear and whispered. "It is alright, Rymar. I understand why you hurt those men. I am not angry with you. Thank you for protecting me." She hugged him around the neck again, and he grunted softly and pleasantly. Neither of them would forget this.

     Now Pa'Rin had a decision to make. Before, she thought that trying to enter her home somehow would endanger her parents even further, and that she may even be captured herself. Now, though, she feared there would be no avoiding an encounter with the men. 

     She would need to go in for her parents.

     She looked at her wooden sword carefully. The reiberry juice stains on it resembled blood, reminding her of Rymar's paws. Reminding her that protecting herself and her family might include pain, injury, and even death.

     "I must help Mother and Father now," she said to Rymar. "But I will need your help. I do not know what I will do, but I can not do it by myself." She sat and thought about the best means to get to her parents, if in fact they were inside. And, once inside, what action should she take? Distract them long enough to free her parents? She could enter through the hole on the roof that led to her room, but she would have to get close enough to her house to do it.

     She then realized she only _thought she saw her father's shadow through the curtains, and assumed that her mother would be there as well, and could think of no one else that the first figure would have been speaking to the way he did. The lack of certainty was frustrating._

     Pa'Rin returned to the edge of the bushes to get another look at her home. She knew that she and Rymar would need to hide the bodies of the men, and quickly; better to make the men inside her home wondered what happened to these three than let them see them in their current state.

     Before Pa'Rin had time to think more on the matter, another man emerged from the house. She let out a silent yelp. Rymar heard Pa'Rin and moved to her position. He too saw the man.

     "Hold still, Rymar," she warned him. "Do not attack unless he is close to us." Rymar twitched but held firm.

     The man stood close to the house, scanning the property for Pa'Rin and his men. He knew something was wrong. He looked in Pa'Rin and Rymar's direction. From a distance, the three dead men were hard to see as lay in the dark in front of the bushes, but the man knew it was them, and knew that they had been killed.

     "Your tralion cannot protect you forever, little kaam'da," the man shouted into the darkness. "I know you are out there."

     Pa'Rin froze, as did Rymar, who could have easily taken the man down where he stood. There was something in the man's voice, though, that gripped Rymar with an unexplainable fear.

     The man stood still for a few more moments, his breath turning to fog in the cold night air. He continued his hawk-like gaze, looking from side to side with a peculiarly mechanical quality, hoping the young girl might appear alone and present herself willingly. She was making this difficult for him.

     "Your parents wish to see you, little one," the man continued. "I am sure you wish to see them."

     Pa'Rin's face flushed with anger. He was toying with her. Did he think she was that foolish? His brazenness was galling. For a moment, she almost shouted something nasty at him, but held her tongue.

     The man scowled. This was not working. Where was this abomination hiding? The man sighed heavily and shouted once more.

     "The burden is on you to see your parents again, little one," he said. "They will be waiting for you."

      With that, the man turned and went back inside the house. Pa'Rin wasn't sure what the man had meant. _The burden is on me?_

     Moments after the man entered the house, he reemerged with two more armor-clad men. The men had Pa'Rin's parents with them.

     _They are still alive!_

     Her parents struggled with the men, and their mouths were bound and gagged with dark pieces of cloth. Pa'Rin's blood went ice cold.

     She started to run out from the bushes, but saw that the men with her parents were holding large knives to their backs. She didn't want to risk startling the men or doing anything that would lead to her parents being harmed.

     Pa'Rin shifted to the right. She could now see the dirt street in front of her home. Just past the house was a large wagon with a domed canvas covering. Two battered-looking, flightless tralions were attached to the wagon's yoke. The first man opened a hatch in the back of the wagon and pushed her parents through. Once everyone was inside, Pa'Rin stepped out with Rymar.

     "We've got to follow them, Ry! Be careful not to be seen." They made their way across the yard on light feet, moving quickly and trying to make little noise, all the while keeping their eyes on the wagon, which had not yet moved. Rymar saw the two tralions, noting how defeated they appeared. His dislike for the men grew more intense.

     Pa'Rin and Rymar hid behind the house, peering around the edge at the wagon. There was rustling and noise coming from underneath the canvas covering; muffled, struggling voices intermingled with sharp, angry ones.

     Suddenly, a slit opened in the canvas, and the face of Pa'Rin's mother desperately appeared.

     "Pa'Rin! Pa…"

     There was a scuffle occurring on the other side of the opening. Leital's words were strained and broken. Pa'Rin ran out from behind the house, but her mother could not see her daughter from the angle she was at.

     "Find Ves—Pa—Pa'Rin – find V.. Ves…find Ves-- Pa'Rin…hurry…."

     Pa'Rin cried out to her mother, but she could not be heard over her mother's frantic words and the skirmish within the wagon. Her mother's face receded from the opening, and the painted visage of one of the intruders took its place. Pa'Rin had just enough time to dive behind a short stone wall nearby, avoiding being seen by the man. Rymar, watching everything, held his ground behind the corner of the house.

     The man's face disappeared, and a leather-clad arm emerged from the slit and threw something at the ground.

     Whatever it was, it exploded instantly.

     A massive eruption of white and orange light sprang up from the where the object struck the earth, blinding Pa'Rin and Rymar. Smoke and flame roared out angrily in all directions.

     A few moments later, the flames vanished. Nothing but charred skeletons remained of the wagon and the two flightless tralions.

     Pa'Rin choked on the acrid smoke and blinked through the murky air. Rymar hurried to Pa'Rin's side, hacking as he breathed, equally stunned by the sudden burst of fire and light.

     _Mother and Father._

     Pa'Rin waded through the haze toward the smoking hulk of what used to be the wagon, her eyes flowing with tears, searching for signs for her parents. Had the men just incinerated them all? Rymar inspected the two tralions who had died so needlessly. He began whimpering again.

     "Help me, Rymar," she pleaded to her tralion. "Help me find Mother and Father." She wasn't ready to accept what she had just witnessed. Not yet.

     Rymar knew the scent of her parents and began sniffing the blackened wood of the wagon's frame. He pawed at the ashes, sneezing occasionally but managing to get a good read of what remained. Pa'Rin feared the fire and heat would destroy the scent of her parents, but needed Rymar's help nonetheless. Pa'Rin watched silently, not allowing her body to be overcome with shock. She wasn't ready to give up.

     Rymar wasn't having any luck. He made no noises to indicate if he'd found evidence of her parents' remains; this did not, however, mean that they weren't there.

     With his snout, Rymar pushed aside a pile of debris that had once been a two-person seat within the wagon. Something within the charred and crumbling wood was gleaming. Something metallic. Rymar grunted.

     Pa'Rin dashed to the spot and push more of the ashes away. The metallic object was a long blade…one of the men's knives, perhaps? No, the edges were too straight and the shape did not have the curve like a knife blade…

     She realized it was the end of a spear that had been snapped off near the head. It had sustained little harm from the fire; even the remaining portion of the wooden handle seemed to not be affected by the blaze. She picked it up and looked it over, not sure what to find, inspecting it only because Rymar had taken such interest in it.

     "What is it, Ry? What do you smell?"

     Rymar continued sniffing the tip of the spear. Something about its scent was familiar…or was it? He lifted his head and sniffed the smoky air, coughing lightly as he went. He stepped away from the remains of the wagon and the cloud of smoke, into fresher air, his nose finding something that he couldn't ignore.

     Pa'Rin followed him into the street. She looked around, unsure of what he could be following. Had he picked up another scent? And what did this have to do with the spearhead he'd just found?

     Rymar began grunting excitedly, stepping from one foot to the other. He _had picked up on something. He continued sniffing, walking tentatively down the dirt street. He raised his head higher to follow the scent._

     He flapped his wings and hovered above the street by a meter or so, still sniffing. He rose a bit higher into the air, and moved a bit forward. Whatever it was he had picked up on, Pa'Rin thought, it leads to the sky.

     Rymar lowered himself to the ground and turned to Pa'Rin expectantly. She was still holding the tip of the spear. She had never seen Rymar so excited. His urgency was a sign that he'd found something…but what?

     "To the sky," Pa'Rin said without realizing she was speaking. She thought of what her mother had told her moments before the explosion:

     _Find Ves. Find Ves._

_     Ves._

     In Trylia, the supreme being Ves lived atop a golden cloud covered in rare ranja trees. It was believed that, when one died, the spirit of a Trylian traveled to Ves' cloud, where Ves would smile upon the deceased, bless them, and transform them into a ranja tree that lived with him for eternity on his cloud.

     Had Rymar picked up on the scent of her parents' spirits?

     _That can't be so! There must be another answer. And what about this spear?_  _Did they try fighting the men off with it?  _

     She looked back toward the charred wagon, toward her home and her yard, at the other houses in her neighborhood. She was angry that the evil men knew how and when to strike. She was angry that people feared her and wanted to harm her and her family. She was angry that she was different from everyone else.

     _It isn't my fault! I didn't ask to be different! If I could change who I was, I would! I don't want to be an abomination like the others say. I don't want to be a kaam'da._

     Rymar could sense her hostility and pulled back somewhat. Now he was taken aback by _her. Pa'Rin noticed his uncertainty, sensing that her irritated pacing and facial expressions had made him uncomfortable._

     "I am not upset with you, Rymar. You are my only friend now."

     She paused after hearing her own words. _Yes, she thought, __he is my only friend now. _There is nothing left for me to do but find out where my parents went. Or perhaps they are dead now, and there is no hope in finding them. Perhaps I must…find Ves.__

     Pa'Rin still did not understand what her mother meant by this. Leital said the words _before _the explosion; did this mean her mother somehow knew she was about to die, and that she and her father would soon join Ves on the golden cloud? That she was to follow them and find them? It didn't make sense. But nothing made sense to Pa'Rin anymore.

     With nothing more than the spearhead and the scent trail to go on, Pa'Rin climbed onto Rymar's back and patted him on the head. She did not have time to cry or feel grief. She wouldn't allow herself to feel those things. Not until she had some answers. Not until she knew for certain what had happened to her parents. She had to have hope.

     "Follow the trail, Rymar." She spoke with a wearily mature tone. "Let us see if we can find Ves."

     Rymar understood her and beat his great wings once more. With his nostrils flared, he and Pa'Rin ascended into the black Trylian night.

     The two had been following the trail for half an hour. The air grew colder the higher they went. Pa'Rin wished she was wearing warmer clothing, though her determination distracted her enough from the cold to reduce her discomfort to nothing more than a slight annoyance.

     Having rarely ventured farther than her own neighborhood, Pa'Rin had no idea where she and Rymar were. She took comfort knowing that Rymar would alert her to anything of interest along the way. His sense of smell would have to be enough of a guide for now.

     In the dimness, Pa'Rin could make out clusters of ranja trees and other tall, fertile growths that dotted Kaasitar province. She'd flown this high with Rymar before, not only across the canyon of the Havenworld, but also over the forested areas near her home. She hadn't, however, flown this far for this long with Rymar, and ordinarily she would have been thrilled to do so. But tonight, the reason their flight was a grave one, their destination unknown.

     Rymar sniffed rhythmically as he flew, taking in short puffs of air every few seconds or so, adjusting his path slightly to stay on course. Pa'Rin clung to him tightly and let her mind wander. She began thinking about all of the things her parents had and had not told her about Trylia. She'd learned much from books, and absorbed whatever knowledge she could through observation, but the information she had access to was controlled, limited. She could see the strain on her parents' faces when she'd asked them a question that they couldn't answer – not because they didn't _know the answer, but because they felt telling her the answer would only have negative consequences. They did tell her to some extent that there were others in Trylia and in Kaasitar that feared her, but told her these people were simple-minded and unsavory. She asked if her relatives, or rather her parents' relatives, feared her, and once again they grimaced. Another answer they didn't want to give her._

     What about finding Ves, as her mother had said earlier that evening? She knew her parents were not particularly religious people, and while leading such a lifestyle wasn't unheard in Trylia, it was not a way that most Trylians chose to lead their lives. Was this another reason why she and her family had been harassed all these years? Because _they were different, like she was? No, she was certain it was mostly because of who she was and the things had happened._

     _No, do not blame yourself, Pa'Rin. Evil people don't understand us. They don't understand that we are good, and that we only want what is best in life. Even if they truly knew how good Mother and Father and I really are, they would have found a way to harm us. It is what evil people do._ Pa'Rin wondered if her mother's cries of Ves revealed a deeper belief in the afterlife than her mother had indicated.

     Another thought occurred to Pa'Rin. When the explosion incinerated the wagon, she was shocked, but did not fear for her life, and therefore did not travel to the Havenworld. Pa'Rin had traveled to the Havenworld a handful of times since her first visit years ago, usually when she and Rymar were playing in the forest and she was playing too close to the edge of a tall rock or high up in a tree with an unsteady branch – in other words, when she feared for her life. Each time she traveled, she arrived in a different location: the first time, she'd found herself inside the cavern overlooking the canyon; another, she'd appeared at the base of a small outcropping of limestone; and yet another time, she was on the canyon floor surrounded by the exotic mosslike growth that was so abundant there. After a time, Pa'Rin began _intentionally_ placing herself into situations where she would fear for her life, sometimes actually falling from a tree or off of a rock on purpose, to test whether or not she would find herself instantly transported to the Havenworld. And each time, it worked.

     She learned a difficult lesson, then, when she once clung to the end of a vine hanging from a ranja tree, swung from it, and let go over a large patch of rocks and shrubs. She assumed that she would feel the swell of fear from the perilous height and the prospect of falling, and that her fear would push her into the Havenworld. She had, however, become so accustomed to _not being harmed by these actions, that she wasn't afraid at all. Instead of traveling, she fell toward the ground at a lazy trajectory. Fortunately, Rymar happened to be nearby, chasing a few woodland rodents, and saw her falling. He rushed to her at the last moment, breaking her fall. It had all happened too fast for her to feel the true fear of death, and only realized the danger she was in after she dismounted Rymar. After that incident, she stopped trying to scare herself into the Havenworld, counting only on natural and unpredicted threats to produce the same effect._

     Why, then, didn't the advancing men in the yard or the explosion make her fear for her life?

     _Perhaps I've come to know the difference between a true threat and something I only think is a threat to my life._ It was the closest to a logical solution she'd come up with to one of the many questions she had been faced with that day. Did that mean she somehow knew, on a deeper level, that neither instance was a threat to her life? _That must be the answer, though I do not understand why that is so._

     The girl and the tralion were now over a more populated region of the province, an area that lay between the smaller villages near the foothills and the denser, urban districts near the edge of Lake Hyllaro. This is where many of the lodges held the vernal gatherings honoring Grevo M'Rais.

     _Should I go to one of the gatherings and ask for help? No, they would not help me if I asked. I know what they think of me. And those that don't fear me….they fear the ones that do fear me._

     They passed unobserved over the closely-grouped homes and gathering places, as everyone was inside celebrating. Even as they drew closer to more densely peopled areas, the world below seemed strangely devoid of human activity.

     Pa'Rin hugged Rymar's neck a little tighter.

     She again considered what the significance the spearhead had, and why it apparently shared that same scent as the trail Rymar was following. She noticed that the trail was taking them closer and closer to the urban districts. _Is that where the evil men came from? Did my parents' spirits head in this direction? And the spear must have belonged to one of the men; it did not appear to be one of her father's, so she ruled out the idea of one of the men taking a spear from her father. Was it the spearhead itself that shared the scent that Rymar was following, or was there another scent _on_ it that matched the trail? Pa'Rin wished Rymar could tell her, in her own language, what it was he smelled, but she was forced to trust that whatever it was he sensed would lead her to the answers she was looking for._

     Pa'Rin decided to try sniffing the spearhead herself. _Maybe my human nose can sense something Rymar's can not? _ Carefully she withdrew it from her holster and held it to her nose. She inhaled; it smelled faintly metallic, like anything else metallic she'd encountered before. No hints of perfume, no revealing traces oils or cleansers…nothing. She continued to analyze it.

     Suddenly, Rymar halted. He slowed and was hovering at a dead stop. Pa'Rin's heart raced a little.

     "What is it, Ry? Have you found something?"

     Rymar moved a few feet through the air to the left, then to the right. He sniffed madly all about him, looking in this direction, then that, then another. He even turned completely around and flew back the way they'd came for a few seconds.

     He'd lost the scent.

     Pa'Rin knew what had happened and panicked. What now? He _must_ try to find the trail again…but what if he doesn't? What do we do? They could always find their way home if they had to, but they might not be able to find the trail again if they tried at a later time. She and Rymar _had _to keep going.

     _Maybe he forgot the scent_, she thought. Was that possible? She didn't know everything about tralions' sense of smell – only that it far surpassed that of a human's – but hoped perhaps he'd lost the memory of the scent and needed reminding.

     Still holding the spearhead in one hand, she inched her way up along Rymar's back and neck, moving the spearhead closer to the end of his snout. "You can smell it again if you need to," she said to Rymar, who understood what she was doing. She went as far as her body could go, and strained to bring the tip in front of his nostrils.

     "Almost there, Rymar…"

     And just as the spearhead reached its intended spot, Rymar sneezed.

     The spearhead went sailing out of Pa'Rin's hand. She could only think to say "No!" to Rymar, who immediately dove after the spearhead. Despite Rymar's keen vision in the darkness, he had a difficult time tracking the falling piece of metal, even by scent. Pa'Rin barely had time to brace herself as they both plunged after the descending spearhead. 

     They were now plummeting toward an abandoned vacant field, lit only by the high three-quarter moon. Pa'Rin and Rymar weren't sure of the best way to retrieve the spearhead in mid-air – she didn't want to risk grabbing at it and losing her grip on Rymar, and he didn't want to cut the inside of his mouth if he tried biting at it – so the best they could do was watch it fall and hope they could see where it landed. Pa'Rin was silent with determination, trying to focus on the falling object as the cold rushing wind forced tears to spring up in her eyes.

     They were perhaps seconds from reaching the ground, and Rymar, avoiding a crash landing, adjusted his wings and leveled off. Pa'Rin tried to see where the spearhead would most likely land. It was just above a large, dark, impossibly dense patch of weeds that abhorred all light. Pa'Rin's heart sank.

     "Land by the dark patch," Pa'Rin said to Rymar, as she pointed to the weeds.  Rymar swooped around to his right and glided toward the area Pa'Rin had motioned to. He landed twenty feet from the patch, coming to rest on a carpet of dead grain stalks and unusable soil. Seconds later, the spearhead smashed into the massive patch of weeds.

     The weed patch loomed before the girl and the tralion. It more than twice as tall as Pa'Rin, and covered as much area as her own house and backyard. Even without the prospect of having to look for the spearhead within, it was a formidable sight. Pa'Rin sighed heavily and looked to her tralion companion.

     "I hope you didn't forget the scent, Rymar. We may need it now more than ever." Pa'Rin led him toward the high weeds, preparing herself for whatever lay within, as well as the presumably long hours it would take to find the spearhead.

     After a few steps, Pa'Rin struck an unseen tripwire with her foot.

     As she fell, a crazy orchestra of bells jangled from somewhere behind Pa'Rin and Rymar, followed by what sounded like a windhorn blaring loudly into the darkness. The girl and the tralion huddled together. 

     In a grove of trees several yards past the weed patch, a light came on from within what appeared to be a short decrepit hut concealed by the darkness of the grove. From the hut came an angry voice.

     "Weapons! I have weapons, you see!" The voice sounded old, and more frightened than anything else.

     Pa'Rin could see a figure emerge from the hut, but could not make out anything more than a shape. She held still, waiting for the figure to make a move.

     "Name yourself, trespasser! Name yourself! I have weapons, yes oh yes!"

     The figure became nervous, losing their coordination and accidentally firing their weapon. A small projectile shot out and careened toward the high patch of weeds. Pa'Rin and Rymar reacted instinctively, running aimlessly away from the advancing object. 

     The projectile thudded to the ground several feet short of the weeds, unexploded. It was apparently a dud.

     The figure hastily ran toward the girl and the tralion. Pa'Rin huddled behind Rymar's body, who was protecting her. She was crying.

     The figure, an old woman, caught sight of the tralion and the top of Pa'Rin's head. She heard her crying, and called out to her again.

     "I say," said the old woman, a bit softer this time, "who is there?" She moved a bit closer. She was uncertain of the tralion – what was a tralion doing out here, alone, at night, and in the company of a young girl? – but Rymar seemed _afraid_, not hostile, and the woman responded in kind. "I did not harm any of you, I hope?"

     Pa'Rin, still hidden behind Rymar, wiped her eyes and inhaled. She could not appear to be afraid to this stranger, the stranger who had just fired on them, never mind that the weapon didn't injure them.  She stood and faced the old woman.

     The woman wore a large grey overcoat that covered her painfully hunched back; it was so hunched, in fact, that it appeared to be a large hump. The woman had an extraordinarily wrinkled old face, with eyes set so far back in her head they nearly disappeared. She had a concerned expression, and the compassion calmed Pa'Rin a slight bit. Still, though, she was upset that the woman had attacked her before having a chance to give her name.

     "You shot your weapon at us," Pa'Rin said.

     "I am sorry. Yes oh yes. I did not mean to. I am old, and my fingers do not work as I would want them to, so you see." She held up the hand holding her weapon; it had only four fingers, and they all appeared as knotty as aged ranjawood.

     "My name is Vestra," the old woman said. "Yes oh yes. What is your name?"

     _Vestra? Pa'Rin blinked at the woman. Many people in Trylia had __Ves as part of their own names. She thought of her mother's words from before, and then thought of the woman's name…surely it was a coincidence._

     "My name is Pa'Rin," she said warily, "and this is my tralion Rymar."

     The old woman clutched an silver medallion that hung from a rope around her neck. She took a step back and kneeled, slowly, and bowed her head to the ground.

     "Thank you, Ves of the golden cloud, for sending me the child. Yes oh yes. Thank you!" The woman bowed, chanting _thank you_ nearly a dozen times. Pa'Rin was astonished and a little embarrassed.

     "Please," Pa'Rin finally said, "we are lost. We are looking for—"

     What, exactly? Her parents? The men who had come for them? Ves and the golden cloud? She was looking for all of them. She finally chose something to say.

     "We are looking for my parents. They are called Agran and Leital—"

     The woman looked up and smiled. "Yes oh yes, I know your parents, Pa'Rin. And I know who you are too, so you see. Though you and I have never before met."

     Pa'Rin stared at the woman, then looked to Rymar, and then back to the woman. Words escaped her.

     "Come," said Vestra, "we have much to discuss, yes oh yes."

     The old woman beckoned to the girl and the tralion, and the three made their way for Vestra's hut. It was as ancient as the woman, perhaps older, but seemed surprisingly sturdy and exuded a warmth Pa'Rin was not expecting. The hut seemed as if it wanted to stay hidden from the world, situated as it was in so isolated an area. Rymar sat outside near the front window, nibbling on a patch of lush grass by the hut's front porch.

     Vestra held the door open as Pa'Rin entered. "By the by," the old woman said as she closed the door behind Pa'Rin, "I know that you are looking for more than just your parents, so you see. But I can help you find them, and so much more, yes oh yes." 


	7. Chlorine and Rhodium

CHAPTER SEVEN: CHLORINE AND RHODIUM 

Alec looked at his watch. It was six o'clock local time. Two hours till dinner with his father. After talking with Will at the Lido Café earlier that evening, Alec went back to the suite and tried to find another way to pass the time. He didn't want to linger in the suite for too long, though; he knew his father would be back shortly and probably get ready for dinner, or something like that. Out of ideas, Alec decided to return to the pool.

     Alec remembered his mother once telling him not to swim for at least an hour after eating – stomach cramps, and all that – and he made sure that enough digestion time had elapsed since finishing his raspberry croissant. Not that he was planning on doing anything strenuous like laps in the pool, but it was sound advice – advice from his mother, no less, whom he missed very much.

     Donning green swim trunks and a pair of loudly-slapping rubber sandals, Alec headed back to the pool area.

     Will headed back to the suite at roughly the same time Alec left it, missing his son by only a minute or so. Will needed to pick out the right suit to wear: nothing too formal, as he didn't want to make his son feel as if he were taking part in some stodgy ceremony; and nothing too casual, for he wanted his son to know that he was serious about his wanting to meet him.

     Kirjava paced back and forth across the top of the sofa as Will laid out a few clothing selections on the suite's coffee table.

     "You're giving this too much thought, Will," Kirjava said. "It's what you _say_ that will matter. He won't care if whether you're wearing tweed or nylon blend, now will he?"

     Will smirked. "I just want to be thorough, Kirjava. Everything, including appearance, helps when making an impression on someone."

     "You sound as if you're meeting him for the first time," his daemon said.

     "In a way, I guess I am."

     He looked at the three suits he'd laid out with indifference. "I did tell Alec that we don't need to be too dressed up. Maybe you're right." Will stood for a moment, unable to take his eyes off of the selections.

     "The blue one, Will," Kirjava offered. "It exudes confidence, and doesn't seem one bit intimidating." She was teasing him now, and Will knew it. Still, he chose the blue one.

     Will picked up the other two suits and put them away. "Can you blame me for wanting this to go well, Kirjava? I can't help it if I feel keyed up about telling him everything."

     "Your massage didn't seem to work, I take it? You should go again before dinner if you still feel that way."

     Will noticed that the tension in his back had returned. He tried not to thinking about what the reknotting of his back portended.

     "Think I'll take a walk on the sun deck," Will said. "I am on vacation, after all. Care to join me?"

     Kirjava leapt down from the sofa and landed at his feet. "As long as you promise to refrain from brooding or fussing in any way."

     Will opened the door. "I'll try," he said, and he and his daemon began their stroll.

     Alec was growing bored with the pool. He was swimming virtually alone; an older couple quietly waded in the shallow end, and a middle-aged Greek man, curiously, did modest water calisthenics in the deep end with nary a ripple. Alec floated for a bit, performed the backstroke, and improvised a few other aquatic maneuvers. He may have enjoyed himself were he able to see underwater; Alec's eyes had always been sensitive to chlorine, and, what's more, didn't have a pair goggles to wear. Whenever he'd gone swimming in one of the local pools, he'd always needed to use goggles – and on some occasions, when none were available at the pool, he would have to resort to wearing a bulky swimming mask, much to his chagrin. Often, though, the mask would be too big for his head and the chlorinated water would leak in. For him, it was goggles or nothing else.

     Giving up, Alec pulled himself out of the pool and toweled off. He laid down in a nearby lounge chair and tried to fall asleep. _Maybe I can sleep through dinner, _he thought. _No, I ought to go. Who knows how Dad will act if I don't._

     A few minutes passed, and Alec was comfortably drowsy. He'd applied a healthy dose of waterproof sun block before swimming, and worried little about burning as he drifted off to sleep.

     Alec's bid for slumber came to an abrupt end when a large, unopened bottle of mineral water fell directly onto his stomach.

     He made a pained, guttural _oof as the air was forced out of his lungs by the pressure on his midsection. Dazed by the impact, Alec could barely follow the apologies of the bottle's owner._

     "Oh my gosh, I am _so sorry! Are you alright? You're not hurt are you? I am __so sorry…"_

     The apologist was a girl in a one-piece blue and yellow swimsuit. She looked to be only a few years older than Alec, and spoke without a British accent. A beige carry-all hung from her right shoulder, and her long brown hair was put back in a ponytail. A pair of wide-framed sunglasses rested on her forehead. Alec couldn't help but stare.

     "I didn't hurt you, did I? I can be clumsy sometimes."

     Alec touched his stomach and looked at it. No, he was just fine. The red spot where the bottle had struck him was nearly gone.

     "No worries," Alec said. "I've had worse." He reached down to his side and picked the bottle off of the pool deck. "Here's your water."

     "Thanks," the girl said, retrieving the bottle from Alec. "Must've fallen out of my bag. I'm Jeanine. What's your name?"

     "Alec," he said. "Alec Parry."

     "Jeanine Babcock," she elaborated. "Funny way to meet someone, right?"

     Alec laughed a little. "At least it didn't hit me in the nose or something." She laughed back. Another girl joined Jeanine and Alec. She appeared older than Jeanine by several years.

     "This is my cousin Patricia," Jeanine said to Alec.

     "Patty," the older girl said. "You're not causing too much trouble here, are you, Neener?"

     Jeanine scowled at her cousin. It was clear to Alec that _Neener_ was not a nickname Jeanine much cared for.

     "Jeanine," she repeated to Patty and Alec. "I just nearly injured him, but he's alright."

     Alec laughed. "Might need to go the medical office," he joked to the girls, "you never know."

     Patty rolled her eyes. "Think I'll work on my tan now, Neener. Behave yourself." Jeanine's cousin deposited herself on a lounge chair near the deep end.

     _Behave yourself? _Alec thought.Now he knew he had to get to know this Jeanine better.

     "Please, if you know what's good for you, do _not _call me Neener. Or else you _will need to visit the medical office." Alec could usually tell the difference between sarcasm and genuine threats, but was having a time trying to determine whether she was serious or not. It only made her more intriguing._

     "Jeanine, then. Alright."

     Alec tried something.

     "But, um, if you can think of a good nickname for me, I'll let you call me by it."

     Jeanine laughed. She couldn't pass up an offer like that. "OK, _Alec,_ let's see what we can come up with. 'Alec.' 'Alec.'" She tapped her index finger to her lips, deep in thought. "Alright. How about Allie?"

     Alec shrugged. "If you want to. But I've been called that before plenty of times. Besides, I said you had to think of a good one."

     _Oops. Should I have said that? I hope she knows I'm only having fun here._

     Jeanine narrowed her eyes, but remained smiling. "So. Allie it is." She coyly reached into her carry-all and removed a swimming cap and pair of goggles.

     "I'll be swimming laps, Allie, if you want to join me." Suddenly, laps in the pool didn't seem such an appalling thought to Alec anymore. Still, he was a bit flummoxed. Now he had her calling him by that ridiculous nickname, but she'd also just invited him to join her in the pool, which he wanted badly to, and there was, of course, the whole chlorine irritation issue… He would have to give her his answer carefully.

     "Yeah, I could do that," he said, "but, well, the chlorine really hurts my eyes. So, unless you have another pair of goggles…"

     _Please, have another pair of goggles._

     Before he finished his thought and sentence, Jeanine had produced another pair of goggles.

     "Here you go," she said, and handed him a white-grey pair. He slipped them onto his head and over his eyes as Jeanine did the same with her pair.

     "The chlorine bothers my eyes too," said Jeanine. "I wish they'd find a way to use bromine instead." Jeanine pulled on her bathing cap, continuing. "They use bromine in spas and Jacuzzis, but not in swimming pools. Not even in indoor pools. Did you know that? But chlorine's cheaper and easier to use, and it's good for outdoor pools because it reacts better with the UV rays from the sun."

     Alec wouldn't have cared in the least about the pros and cons of chlorine and bromine had he been told by anyone other than Jeanine Babcock, at that exact moment.

     "Screwy, that chlorine," was the best response Alec could come up with.

     Jeanine grinned. "I'm a bit of a swimming nerd, in case you hadn't guessed already. I hope to be an swimmer in the Olympics someday. I thought I should probably know all that kind of stuff."

     Alec stared at her, grinning back. Even with the goggles and cap on, he still found her to be rather cute.

     She felt him staring at her in her swimming gear and grimaced a little. "Do I look funny with these on?" she said.

     Alec turned from her and dove headfirst into the pool. The goggles felt great, and the freedom from the sting of the chlorine was a relief. He popped his head up above the water.

     "Come on in, Neener," he said. "Let's swim some laps."

* * * * * * * * * *

     Will hadn't done much with the subtle knife since saying good-bye to Lyra. He'd shattered the knife by thinking of Lyra while attempting to cut into space with it. And, without the ability to forge the shards back into their original unified form, the threat of the subtle knife's power no longer existed – nor did, of course, any chance of seeing Lyra again in his lifetime. Will, one or two occasions, fancifully considered trying to find _some _means by which the pieces could be reassembled successfully, just to give him the chance to catch even a glimpse of Lyra – perhaps on Midsummer's Day, perhaps, at their bench? – but knew no metal smiths could, or should, ever do such a thing. 

     Despite the uselessness of the shards of the knife, Will couldn't part with them. He decided to keep the pieces in a safe place, out of view but somewhere he'd know to find them. He rolled them up in a thick, unmatched wool sock he'd not worn in years, and put them away in his bottom dresser drawer, hoping he'd have no reason at them again. Knowing where they were kept was enough for him.

     It was Mary who asked to see the pieces of the knife.

     She'd finished working out the calculations for how much money she and Will would need to fund not only their studies and research but the continued long-term care for Will's mother Elaine. Mary estimated that, to cover all project expenses over the next five years (an arbitrary number, but a fair estimate nonetheless), she and Will would somehow need to drum up at least £500,000. Her estimate, she feared, was a conservative one.

     "And that's assuming I find enough cheap working parts," she added. "Bearing in mind, also, that you'd need to apply for, and receive, at least two scholarships…"

     Will interrupted her. "I hope you've got a plan for raising the money, Mary, and not just the total we'll need for all of this." He chewed his fingernails as he spoke her, a new habit he'd recently picked up from nowhere.

     "I do," Mary said. She took a breath, not for dramatic effect, but because her plan was lofty in both ambition and possibility. And, because she didn't know how Will would react to it.

     "I think we'll need to try to sell the subtle knife."

     The words struck Will's ears like hard glancing blows. He lost his balance momentarily, steadying himself against a nearby chair. He hadn't expected Mary to make that suggestion, and he was equally surprised at how he'd reacted to it. Mary's alpine chough daemon Cicero hopped nervously on her shoulder.

     "Go on," Will said, still gripping the back of the chair.

     Mary put her hands together. "Well, first, I'll be needing to take a very close look at the shards. And now, if you've got them handy."

     Quizzically, he fetched the wrapped pieces from his dresser and brought them to the living room. He was hesitant to show the pieces to her, but did as she requested. Mary, thoughtfully, didn't make Will wait for an explanation of her plan.

     She started by telling him that the composition of the metal of the subtle knife existed nowhere in their own world, and could therefore, arguably, be considered a precious metal – _the most precious metal of all, in theory. Thus, the shards were astonishingly valuable._

     To the untrained eye, the shards resembled a type of steel, or even platinum, but Mary knew further analysis would reveal it to be something entirely unique. She then explained that if anyone – say, metallurgists or industrial scientists – were to in fact observe the composition of the metal themselves, their reaction to such a find would be unpredictable. They'd want to know the metal's origin, or how it was alloyed or processed, and either tell the world of their find or take drastic measures to keep the knowledge of the metal to themselves. The difficult task would be to attempt to attain the necessary monetary compensation they needed, and all without creating an public, or private, melee. 

     "When did you learn so much about metals?" Will questioned. "I can't imagine you spent too much time on this stuff while at Oxford, or back when you were a student." Will was feeling particularly suspicious of Mary. He held Kirjava for support as he asked her.

     "You have me there, Will." She told him she'd been studying up on metal sciences for the last couple of months, without his knowledge, thinking that if he'd known what she was planning, he'd have intervened and tried convincing her not to.

     "You're probably right," Will said. "I don't like to think so, but I probably would have tried stopping you."

     "I know," Mary said. "But I would have continued regardless, and I wouldn't have enjoyed it. Not while I'd be doing something I knew upset you so."

     Mary intended to determine what existing earth metals the subtle knife most closely shared properties with. After telling Will of her plan, Mary managed to gain limited access to some metallurgical analysis equipment through an old friend from her college days. Thankfully, not everyone in England yet knew of her renegade status at Oxford, but she reasoned they probably would in time. She had to act quickly.

     "These are uncharted waters we're sailing through," Mary said to her alpine chough daemon, Cicero, as she worked quietly and alone on the analysis. "I'm so afraid for Will, and Elaine, and myself."

     "You've come up with the best option so far," her daemon said. "Will can't argue with that. And he'll thank you for it. Don't give up hope."

     Once Mary had generated a molecular profile of the shards, and thoroughly erased all traces of her use of the equipment, she concluded that the knife could be convincingly presented as a newly formed rhodium-platinum alloy.

          Will asked Mary about the significance of this information. In essence, she told him, an alloy with the strength and density of the subtle knife shards – say, for example, a naturally occurring rhodium-platinum alloy – not only _didn't _occur naturally, but would require an astronomically expensive and as-yet-non-existent alloying process to come anywhere close to producing a material matching the properties of the subtle knife. The price per ounce, if it actually existed, would be several times more than that of either platinum or rhodium.

     "Platinum and rhodium are used for all sorts of things, Will. I've read that the two metals, in their raw form, are extracted from one another and then alloyed together for use in engine turbines and high-performance machine parts. This process makes platinum and rhodium all the more valuable. And while platinum is very valuable on its own, rhodium is more difficult to extract and use – in fact, it's often of more value per ounce than platinum is. What we would be presenting is a new kind of rhodium-platinum alloy." Mary had studied the metals thoroughly, both on a elemental and financial level, and hoped that her theories would pan out.

     "And if we did this," Will said, "people would think we'd figured out a way to make some kind of supermetal, right?"

     "That's the trick," she said, holding up one of the shards. "I think we're better off acting like we know less about our little friends here than we're letting on. We'd need to act as if we didn't know where it came from, or even how valuable it would be…I wouldn't want to present these shards to a group of scientists and investors from some manufacturing plant with scads and scads of my own data. The questions they'd ask…well, no telling where that would lead, is there?"

     "What do you have in mind then?" Will asked.

     "I'll need to perform for a much smaller audience," she said, "And, I'll very likely need to play dumb. At least, a little dumber than I've already proven myself to be."

     She and Will discussed the ethical implications of what she was planning to do. She would lying about the origin of the knife, potentially opening Will and herself up to any number of questions from outsiders. But they were thinking short-term, and the Republic of Heaven was the very definition of a long-term project. The ends, they felt, would more than justify the means. Mary would simply need to exercise the utmost tact and caution. There was, of course, the sentimental value Will felt for the knife.

     "Selling it…I don't know. I mean, even if it worked, Mary…it feels…well, not wrong, but not right, either. If that makes sense." He rubbed the stubs where he'd lost his finger and thumb to the subtle knife. The knife had made him who he was today, but he knew that didn't mean he had to hang on to it forever.

     "It is a peculiar idea, I'll be the first to admit it. But I don't know what else to do."

     Will looked to his mother, who sat silently in the room while he spoke with Mary. "We don't need to sell _all the pieces, do we?"_

     "Not if this works out, we won't." Mary reasoned she'd only need a few of the larger shards for any presentation she'd give.

     Elaine Parry looked up at Will slowly, as if she'd just then realized he was in the room with her. She reached out to him. He walked over to her and held her hands in his. He sighed.

     "Do your worst," he said to Mary. 

     After much persistence on her part, Mary was finally granted a meeting with Francis Bradley, the president and chairman of Britannia Steel in London. Ordinarily the man could not be bothered for an interview with just anyone, but Mary's scientific credentials, though not precisely within the realm of metal sciences, helped get her five minutes with him.

     Mr. Bradley stared at the cumbersome, wheeled metal case Mary rolled into his office with her, briefly considering what was inside it but just as suddenly not caring.

     "You say you're something of a scientist? Dark matter theory, quantum physics and whatnot?"

     "That's partially true," she said, telling Mr. Bradley the first of several half-truths and fabrications she'd prepared to give him. "I may have puffed up my credentials a bit. I'm only just a student, you see. I ain't what you'd call a scientist, but sort of a…oh, I don't know. A science enthusiast?"

     _Too big a word, Mary. Keep it simple._ Mary needed her background to get her to see the man; she'd have to walk a fine line to convince him she was also not the brightest bulb in the light fixture; she'd hoped he'd see her as a whimsical soul who took up a science major as something fun to do, and not much more. The success of her plan hinged on his perception of her.

_     "Yes sir," she went on, "I just love atoms and black holes and things. All very keen. So I thought, why not study that?"_

     Bradley stroked his mustache with disdain, and looked at his watch. "My secretary says you've discovered…" he checked a memorandum on his desk – "a new kind of metal? I don't entertain hoaxes, Ms. Malone. Please don't waste your five minutes."

     "Well, I think it's a new sort of metal. It's very strong." She had the idea that Mr. Bradley was only humoring her before he took off for lunch, so she got right to the heart of the matter. "Here it is." 

     She opened the case, pulled out a few of the larger, stronger shards of the knife, and laid them on his desk. Bradley leaned over and adjusted his glasses as he took a closer look.

     "Looks like regular steel," he said, reaching for it.

     "Be very careful, sir," Mary said. "It's much, much sharper than you might think."

     "Noted," he said, grabbing carefully at the flat points of the largest shard. He noticed that one side was dull and grey, and the other seemed to reflect several colors all at once.

     "What is this side of the metal treated with?" he asked Mary. He was no longer dismissing the importance of her presentation.

     "Beats me, sir," she said, playing ignorant. "But I think you should see what this metal can do."

     Mary pulled two more objects from her wheeled case and set them beside to the shards on Mr. Bradley's desk. One was an iron mallet; the other was a 50cc moped engine. 

     "What's all this?" Bradley barked. "This isn't an auto garage, Ms. Malone." He pressed the intercom button on his phone, nearly ready to make a request for security, when Mary held up the mallet and cut effortlessly through the head with a shard of the subtle knife.

     Mr. Bradley's secretary heard the page from her boss' office, but heard no answer. He let up on the button.

     The man watched in awe. "How did you…"

     A moment later, Mary drew the shard sideways through the moped engine, cleanly severing it and all its internal parts, leaving two flawlessly neat cross-sections.

     Francis Bradley stood up from his chair and stepped backward until he ran into the wall, cupping his hand to his mouth. He didn't take a breath for ten seconds.

     "These shards have always been able to do that." Mary said to Francis Bradley. "You see, my grandfather – he was a bit of a scientist himself, and much better one than I'll probably ever be, I'll tell you that right now – he and my grandmother were visiting the Giant's Causeway. You know, in Ireland, of course. With all them funny basalt columns, and all that. Strange looking things, ain't they? As I was saying, he was having a good look at them years ago…I think was in the 50's…1953, maybe? And he was studying them or somethin' – he was always studyin' things, even when he was on holiday!  – and he noticed a big mound of rock or somethin' between them columns of basalt. He wrote it all down here."

     Mary produced a weathered notebook from her case. She'd done a fine job of making the book appear to be decades old, and had filled it with, allegedly, speculations of the metal's composition made by her grandfather. Everything Mary had placed in the notebook was designed to point Francis Bradley in a particular direction. 

     "Anyway, this mound of rock he found – well, it was odd, since there ain't any other  mounds like it at Giant's Causeway, is my understandin'. Sorta hidden from view, it was, and he figured…oh, what did he jot down…" She leafed through the notebook to one of the middle pages. "Ah. Yes. He said it mighta been part of some meteor or rock from space that crashed there, back when them basalt columns was lava or somethin'. That's all I know, anyhow. I can't make head or tail of the rest o' what he wrote. I was hopin' maybe you could? Best leave it to the professionals, I figured."

     Mr. Bradley began pouring over the notebook. There were crudely drawn graphs and scribblings, and even a few sketches of random faces and trees, just to make it seem more authentic.

     After a few pages, Francis Bradley's eyes locked onto a particular phrase.

     "Pre-alloyed rhodium?" he asked. "Your grandfather thought he'd found…some sort of…pre-alloyed rhodium?" Mary shrugged and let him explain to her what she already knew.

     "According to this, your grandfather – what was his name, by the way?"

     "Clifford," Mary invented on the spot.

     "It seems your grandfather, Clifford, had the idea that this metal was some sort of exotic alloy of rhodium, blended with traces of platinum and titanium, he says…" He looked again at the shards again and their two contrasting surfaces. He picked up the pieces of the cleaved mallet head and engine, checking for signs of fraud. He found none.

     "Truly remarkable," he said, as the sound of ringing cash registers populated his thoughts. "There's nothing we have today that could replicate this! Well, not yet, of course. The composition appears to be so smooth…almost as if it's been hammered out or flattened…"

     The shape of the shards made him even more curious. "As if it had been formed deliberately into some sort of shape…" He didn't have all the pieces to the knife, but if he fit them together just the right way…they almost looked like…

     "Are you sure this is how it came from the meteor?"

     Mary swallowed but remained calm. "Like I said, my grandfather found it that way. Why?"  
     _No, that couldn't be, thought Bradley. __But if these pieces had once been part of some sort of instrument or tool…might they be artifacts of an alien species?_

_     "Your grandfather said he thought this came from a meteor? From space, you said?"_

     "Yes, sir."

     "If I didn't know any better, I'd say these pieces almost resemble fragments of a blade or instrument of some sort."

     Mary continued to play along. She hadn't intended for Francis Bradley to think she'd just delivered him evidence of extraterrestrial life…but in a manner, it _was _just that_, _having originated in a decidedly alien world he'd never heard of or seen before. 

     "Really? A tool of some kind? From outer space? Goodness."

     Bradley stroked his mustache intensely. "Yes…I suppose that _is_ possible… Created by people from another world…"

     Cicero snickered as he sat invisibly on Mary's shoulder. "Doesn't it drive you mad, not being able to tell him where it _really _came from?" Mary kept her attention on Bradley.

     "Though," he added, "it _is more likely that we're looking at fragments made smooth by the ancient volcanic activity at Giant's Causeway." Bradley, in fact, had little idea of what he was saying, but as long as he thought he knew, Mary hoped, her plan would have a chance of succeeding._

     "Goodness me," Mary said. "How much would something like this be worth?"

     "That all depends," said Mr. Bradley. "I'd like to have a closer look at these notes, if you don't mind. To get a better idea of what we're dealing with."

     "Be my guest," Mary said.

     Mr. Bradley was still wondering whether or not he could synthesize a similar compound using Britannia Steel's facilities. And if the shards _were _naturally occurring, which he felt was more likely than not, that would mean there was more of the same kind of metal still embedded in the meteor.

     He looked up from the notebook to Mary. "Did your grandfather have any more notebooks other than this?" 

     "No," she said, "just the one. You can keep it if you like."

     Francis Bradley had difficultly believing his good fortune. Mary watched as he gawked and stammered, wondering if she had the same expression on her face when she was first visited by Lyra that one afternoon at her old office in Oxford. 

     "I notice," said Mr. Bradley, "that these notes don't mention the exact location of the meteor at Giant's Causeway. Do you happen to know where it is?"

     Mary allowed herself to be just a little sly with the man. "Well, maybe I do and maybe I don't." She tried to give him the impression that, though not particularly bright regarding metals, she knew to make a deal when the opportunity presented itself.      "I only just received all these things in an inheritance…"

     "My condolences," said Bradley hollowly.

     Mary went on, "So I haven't had a chance to visit Giant's Causeway yet to see if it's all still there. But that doesn't mean I won't try to. There's no other notebook…but I do, though, have this map."      Mary produced another weathered-looking document, this time from her jacket. It was even more crudely drawn than any of the figures in the notebook, and was vague in its description of the fake meteor as it was genuine-looking.

     "Of course," she went on, "if I went back and found it first, I could claim it all for myself, couldn't I?"

     Bradley knew what she was driving at, and was a little annoyed by it. Was she trying to get extort money from him? Mary knew she was, in a way, but had to remind herself that all of this was for a greater good.

     The man was ready to give Mary a piece of his mind when the sight of the engine and mallet reminded him of all that he had to gain. He simply had to have the metal, all of it, and was prepared to make whatever deal he needed to get secure the map in Mary's hand.

     "Yes, yes, you could of course do that, but you must surely understand that the applications for such a metal would be invaluable to not just our company but, and I don't exaggerate when I say this, the entire world! Britannia Steel would of course be willing to compensate you for the rights to these materials…"

     "What sort of compensation?" Mary said. _Please, don't let this fail, she thought._

     "If you give me just a moment, I could sort out the numbers and give you an estimate? Of course, we would need to run all of this by our legal and financial departments, but…"

     "I'd like to hear your offer first, Mr. Bradley." She held half of the mallet head in one hand and tapped it against the palm of the other.

     "Of course." Bradley turned away from her and pulled out a calculator and some charts.

     "Here it comes," Cicero said to Mary. "The wheels are really starting to turn inside his head now."

     _Let's assume these are the only pieces she's got in her possession, _Bradley thought_. If I make her the right offer, it would be ours to do with as we wished…ours to analyze. Ours alone. We'd even get these notebooks. And of course, if it truly is a naturally occurring metal within the meteor, I'd need to know exactly how much there is … _

     "Is there anywhere in your grandfather's findings," said Bradley without looking up, "that offers some idea of the size of the meteor or the amount of the metal within?"

     Mary thought for a moment, formulating the most effective description to give him. "He may have mentioned something about it being as large as a railcar. Perhaps a little smaller."

     Bradley was cheering on the inside, but kept his composure. "I see," he said. "Just a moment while I tot this all up."

     He leafed back through the notebook, and a passage caught his eye:

_"The meteor rock appeared to be covered over by a small landslide by the rocks on the shore…perhaps just after impact? And several of the basalt columns were fused to its edges. So close the shore…with the waves and the tides covering the path made by the rock's impact…who knows how long ago it happened? The lack of a crater is rather mysterious._

_  By my estimates, there's at least a metric ton of this metal embedded within the rock, though I can not be certain."_

     Bradley estimated what an ounce of the metal would be worth in relation to the most comparable rare earth metals. He decided the value of the metal would be at least _ten_ times the current per-ounce value of rhodium, setting the value of the shards of the subtle knife at about £3,000 per ounce.

     _Now, assuming there's a least a metric ton of the metal within the meteor…_

     He started at the total on the calculator. If there was in fact a metric ton to be had, priced at £3,000 per ounce, the metal would be worth over £125,000,000.

     Francis Bradley crossed himself discreetly and tried to calm down. Finally, after gathering his wits, he turned to face Mary. He, of course, wasn't about to make her an offer of that magnitude.

     "I've come up with a figure," he said. "Provided, of course, that you relinquish all rights to the future use of this metal…"

     Mary piped up. "I've been doing some thinking about that myself, Mr. Bradley. And I did some figurin' as well, and I know that that metal's worth a whole bundle of money."

     Bradley went silent. He could feel the opportunity slipping away.

     "And I figure," Mary said, pulling out a crumpled piece of scrap paper she'd apparently done her figuring on, "that it's worth no less than £1,000,000. That's my price, Mr. Bradley. You'll get the map, the notebooks, and these shards here. For £1,000,000. Take it or leave it."

     Mary's bargain price produced the broadest grin ever to cross Francis Bradley's face. 

     "You have a deal, Ms. Malone."

     Two weeks later, Mary signed a flurry of contracts and releases, as did several officials from Britannia Steel. Three weeks later, she and the Parry's financial future were secured.

     Mary took two additional steps to prevent any potential backfiring of her plan. She  hired a stockbroker to help her invest in and manage a healthy mix of proven, standard, high-yielding stocks as well as futures in cutting-edge tech companies. This way, not only would they have enough financial resources for their current goals, but they could ensure the continued future success of their efforts.

     The other step she took came before receiving payment from Britannia Steel. She demanded a clause in her contract stating that Britannia Steel would agree to never prosecute her over any charges of fraud if they were unsuccessful in locating the supposed meteor. In fact, years later, after exhaustive surveys of Giant's Causeway, it was determined by Britannia Steel officials that no such meteor existed. But, no charges were brought up against Mary, since not only had she signed away the rights to pursue a patent of a new rhodium alloying process, but they also had the miraculous shards she'd given them, which was the only proof they needed that Mary Malone had told them the truth.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Alec was a healthy young man, and in excellent shape, but found that twenty minutes of swimming laps with a future Olympian was more tiring than he thought it would be.

     He stopped at the edge of the deep end of the pool and clung to the side, catching his breath. He and Jeanine had run several mini-races, with her winning most of them, except for the ones were Alec splashed her or distracted her somehow. She didn't count those as victories, but Alec did. They had nearly launched a full-blown splash war against one another, but thought better of it once they caught sight of the imposing lifeguard that had watched them silently for the last half-hour. 

     Jeanine came to a stop and joined Alec, panting but full of energy.

     "What's the problem," she said between breaths, "Tired already?"

     "You're training for the Olympics! I think I kept up with you fairly well. You should try my splashing method to distract the other swimmers. You'll win for sure."

     Jeanine squirted some water at him with her hands, making sure the lifeguard wasn't watching. He deflected the stream, and moved a bit closer to Jeanine. 

     "Say, how old are you, Allie?" said Jeanine.

     Alec was actually beginning to like when she called him that.

      "I'll turn thirteen this November," he said boldly. Like any young boys trying to impress older girls, he described his age in the rounded-up, future-tense fashion. "How old are you?"

     "Just turned fourteen last month," she said. 

     Alec nodded. "Hey, thanks for the goggles. That was nice of you."

     "You're welcome. I've actually been to the doctor because of the chlorine, and how bad my eyes would get. But I love to swim, so I have to be extra careful. Just part of the challenge, you know? I always have at least two pairs of goggles with me. So, now that you know what I like to do, what do you like to do?"

     That was a fair question, but Alec wasn't sure what to mention as an interest. He certainly wasn't involved in anything at his age that matched training for the Olympics. There was his music, and his art. 

     "I like to do art."

     "Really? What kind"

     "You know, paintings, drawings, things like that." 

     Jeanine was impressed. She figured he was younger than she was, but didn't know many boys his age that were interested in art. "Do you have any examples of your work with you?"

     "No. Sorry." Alec only drew and painted in school, but now wished he'd carried a sketchpad and some pencils with him, just to have something to show her.  

     Alec shifted the focus back to her. "So, where are you from? I'm guessing somewhere on the other side of the Atlantic, right?"

     Jeanine grinned. "That's right. I'm from Canada. Vancouver, British Columbia.   I have relatives in England, in Southampton, and we're visiting for the summer while school is out. I'm here with some of my cousins. No parents. It's pretty cool."

     Alec smiled slightly. He thought of this mother.

     "Where are you from?" Jeanine went on. "I'm guessing England, of course. What part?"  

     "I live in Winchester with my father and grandmother."

     "What about your mother?" asked Jeanine.

      Alec paused. Jeanine sensed she'd touched onto something sensitive. "You don't have to tell me if you…"

     "She died five years ago." He said no more about her. "I'm here with my father." He tried to sound more upbeat, but it was difficult.

     "I'm so sorry," Jeanine said. "My grandfather died two years ago, and left me and my cousins a big inheritance. My grandfather was very rich. Actually, my whole family is rich anyway. They all work for a shipping company in Vancouver. It's been around for years. My parents wanted me to work for the company someday, but I have other things I want to do."

     "Swimming," Alec said."

     "You got it, Allie. But all the money we have…sometimes, I think it's ridiculous how much we have. It used to seem fun, but not anymore. I mean, sure, I get to go on vacations and cruises and things, but that's not all I want in life. I just get tired of it sometimes."

     "I know exactly what you mean. See, my father's a doctor – well, he's not really a doctor. He studied to become a doctor, but then he just stopped."

     "Really? But it sounds like you have a rich family."

     "Well, he does a lot of medical research or something, and he gets money from that. And he invested some money, too. I guess he's made a lot from that also. But sometimes he tries to buy me things and do things with the money to make me happy. And it doesn't work."

     Jeanine nods.

     "Yes, I know what that's like." The two children floated in the water together, each committing to memory all of the things they had in common.

     Alec had a question for Jeanine. "You say you've been on the cruise the whole time?" 

     _That was a silly question_, he thought. _Of course she had to have been_.

     "Yep. Guess we just never ran into one another."

     "Guess I've been pretty busy," Alec said, covering for all the moping he'd done on the cruise.

     "My cousins and I have seen all the sights so far…I didn't get to see much of Ibiza, though – not appropriate for a girl my age, is what my cousin Patricia said – but we did get to do some things when we were at Corfu. I visited the Byzantine fortress of Aggelokastro. I just loved the architecture there. Did you get a chance to see it?" 

     Alec mentally kicked himself.

     "No. Guessed I missed it while I was there." He considered telling her he went windsurfing, but decided against it.

     Jeanine looked around the pool area for a clock. She spied Alec's watch and asked him for the time. "Quarter of seven," he told her. 

     She looked a bit surprised. "Already? Time flies, you know? Hey! I don't know if you and your dad are busy later, but if you're not, there's a new youth dance club they just opened up on the ship. It's pretty new…an all-ages kind of place, that's what Patricia told me. Did you know about that?" 

     Alec didn't. Will had tried showing him all the activities on the ship that were 'kid-friendly', but Alec paid no attention. "Must have missed that too," he admitted sheepishly.

     "Well, want to come tonight? My cousins and I will be there around eight o'clock, and it's open until one in the morning. Think you can come?"

     Despite his displeasure with his father, Alec felt a bit conflicted by Jeanine's invitation. _Why eight o'clock?_

     "Can I meet you there a little later?" He didn't say why.

     "I suppose so," she said, "but they're giving away prizes starting at eight, and you can even put in song requests if you want to, and you'd need to get there early to do that. But if you can't make it…"

     "No, no," Alec said, speaking before thinking his dilemma completely through. "I should be able to make it by then."

     She smiled at him. "Hope so," she said. "It's is called the Crystal Ball Club, on the main deck. I don't know what I'll be wearing, but I'll find you if you don't find me first."

     Alec smiled back, exhilarated. "Eight o'clock," he said. "You'll find me."

     "See you then, Allie." She climbed out of the pool, picked up her things, and left. Patricia awoke from her tanning session and followed her cousin. 

     Alec bobbed in the water, going over what he'd just said. He wondered what would happen if he wasn't at the Franconia Restaurant in an hour and fifteen minutes.

     _Important news. About Dad, and Mother, and me._

     Why now? Why did it have to be tonight? Couldn't his father tell him later, even after the cruise was over and they were back home? Jeanine would be staying in Southampton, sure, but he knew his chances of seeing her again were slim. 

     _He should have told me before, _Alec rationalized. A tiny trace of guilt still nagged at him, but the fact that he had a date with a girl more than made up for it. 


	8. Privileged Information

**EIGHT **

****

**PRIVILEGED INFORMATION**

The angels murmured at Chemeron's news. Symandera turned to her beloved Chemeron and whispered in his ear. He nodded.

"And further," he went on, "we fear the cloaked man may still be alive."

It had been three days since the incident in the Lapland mountains. Chemeron was addressing several hundred angels atop a grassy pine-covered peak in the world of Cittagazze. The world where the subtle knife had originated opened into many worlds, and had become, in a manner, the angel's hub of window-closing activities.

A wizened curmudgeon of an angel named Gard stepped forward. "Why might you think he is alive? You found no evidence of this assertion!"

"Precisely," said Symandera. "We found _no _evidence whatsoever. It is impossible for a dead man to conceal the evidence of his death, unless he had planned very carefully ahead of time." Several angels snickered.

Chemeron and Symandera looked at one another, hesitant to say what they were considering. "We have two theories. We believe that he either is not human, or that he may have been assisted somehow by non-human forces."

The murmur swelled. Before it grew, Symandera spoke up. "If anyone has any knowledge to either corroborate or disprove these theories, we will most gladly hear it."

Gard was not listening, still consumed by his disappointment at the pair of angels.

"You should not have shown him the way! Self-sacrifice above divulging the knowledge, at all costs."

Symandera was struck by Gard's insensitivity. The angels had not agreed to a secret-to-the-death protocol, and it was unfair of Gard to lay guilt on Chemeron for doing what he did. Not to mention that he'd actually suggested, in Symandera's presence, that he should have offed himself without a moments' thought. But, that's how Gard was, even while alive: ruled by cold logic, with little time for the quagmire of emotions.

"If he _had_ done so," Symandera countered, "he'd not have been able to tell you everything. I saw some of the events that transpired, but not all. Chemeron's knowledge was crucial. This threat is too great to start sacrificing ourselves without considering the meaning of the threat."

An angel named Tymisen who lounged on a robust pine bough sat up. "So, what do you believe the 'first step' to have been that the man spoke of? You said you didn't think it was to do with the world that that last window opened into. What then?"

Chemeron flapped his wings and rose about nine or ten feet in the air, getting a better look at Tymisen and the rest of the others. "We first must consider what he had at this disposal. He was high in the Lapland region at a hunting lodge. It may have been his, but I doubt it sincerely. He may have paid for its use, or perhaps killed the owner."

A number of angels consulted one another, seeing if any had heard of any recent death in the region. Chemeron went on.

"He also had a power over the cliffghasts. Contact with humans – and this is still assuming that the cloaked figure _was _a human – is not something that has been known to occur since the fall of the Authority."

Symandera joined Chemeron at his side. "And let us not forget that remnants of the Magisterium linger, and, remnants though they may be, still pose a threat to us all—"

"And to Lyra Belacqua," an angel atop a boulder noted. "Her daughter as well."

All the angels turned. It was Xaphania who had spoken.

Chemeron stopped abruptly and went silent. He floated back to the ground. "Of course," Chemeron said. "And if there is any threat to her work to build the Republic of Heaven, it is prudent to assume this man has something to do with it."

Xaphania rose from the boulder and flew to Chemeron and Symandera. She turned to the crowd of angels and flashed a sweeping gaze at them that made every single of them think _She's looking right at me_.

"We cannot know all that those with dark hearts and darker intentions are planning. But I can say that the greatest threat to the Republic of Heaven, the first great challenge to the freedom we so passionately fought for, is building momentum. It will be a long time in coming, but it is coming. Make no mistake about it. We must be vigilant, and we must be ready."

The angels conferred again with one another, more loudly this time. Gard piped up.

"How do you know all of this? And can you not say more?'

Xaphania shook her head. "I can not, though I know, as before, that we angels have a role to play in these developments, though perhaps not the central role. Our help will be needed, as before, and there will be sacrifice. But how and when, I can not say.

"Though," she added, "I can say that I will be among those that will be lost."

Stunned silence fell over the angels on the peak. Xaphania's statement was so matter-of-fact, so mild, that even Gard arched an eyebrow.

She went on. "Do not grieve for me, or be shocked by this knowledge. It is not something to be avoided. On the contrary: it is my fate; all of our fates. It is not with sadness that I offer this news, but with assurance that, with this sacrifice, the threat will be positively eliminated. But, to do this, we will once again require the help of Lyra and Will. And we must allow them to proceed, unabated in their lives' work—"

"Unabated?" Tymisen said as he leapt off of the bough and landed in front of Xaphania. "Was it not you who instructed Will Parry and Mary Malone to follow a path they would not have thought to follow?" The angel was referring to Xaphania's intervening effort to help save Will's mother Elaine. Symandera and Chemeron shifted uncomfortably as the question was asked.

Xaphania responded. "It is true that I did such a thing. But I would argue that Will faced obstacles at that time in his life that Lyra did not; obstacles that, without assistance, he would never have been able to scale, not even with the help of Mary Malone. Will now as the tools to continue, and the ability to overcome future adversity."

Gard snorted dismissively. "The question remains: how is it you've come to know so much about these things? Is there an oracle you are privy to that we are not?"

Xaphania simply smiled. "Yes," she said. "That is precisely the case."

* * *

As a child, Lyra's mother Marisa Coulter had abhorred taking the Chthonic Railway for any reason save an emergency, and even _that _would be a status-lowering experience she'd rather not have to endure. And, as her mother, she'd never allow her child to do such a thing; not if she had anything to say about it. But Lyra did many things as an adult that as a child she was either unable to do or advised against trying, and taking rides on the railway was one of them.

It was nearly ten o'clock at night now. The railcar was nearly empty, save a few tossed stragglers from the fair who were too worn out to make much noise. Bella loved rides in the railcar; loved the scent of the oil of the wheels and the moist dampness of the surrounding tunnel walls; felt warmed by the the humming orange glow of the anbaric lights along the walls of the railcar. She would pretend the railway was a magic portal from one world to another, and that the railcar was a supreme conveyance built expressly for such interdimensional travel. Bella had said as much to her mother, who stifled an ironic laugh upon hearing so.

Bella and Lyra were on their way home, back to Westingbrook near St. Mary's where Lyra and Bella lived. Though Bella did not attend her mother's school, she and her mother still lived close by; the short distance between her job and her home made things easier for Lyra, and Bella always knew her mother would be close to home.

Though Theo had come to the fair with Lyra and Bella, he returned home with other friends he'd met up with at the fair. Theo had to return home earlier than Bella did (his parents were strict when it came to curfew, and he was a fine boy who always obeyed), and he met up with a family who was friends with his parents. Theo gave Bella a markedly diplomatic handshake when they parted for the evening, but he snuck a small kiss on the back of her hand. Bella blushed furiously, thankful that the dark of the evening hid her reaction.

Bella had been keeping tightlipped about her whirlwind escapades that day at the fair. Her mother had said nary a word, despite knowing full well what it was her daughter had been up to. She knew her daughter would speak of it soon enough.

Thoughts of Theo played through Bella's mind as she and her mother rode in pleasant silence through the underground network of tunnels that ran beneath Oxford. _He didn't care about winning the game. He wanted me to win. He did it for me._ And she was dead certain she'd never feel the same thrill she felt as when he kissed her after the other children had dispersed. If only the day could last a few hours longer…

Lyra had gone back to 'reading' her book on horticulture while Pantalaimon coiled himself around her neck. Pan occasionally whispered a thought or two into Lyra's ear, making it difficult for Lyra not to chuckle.

"That hen very nearly pecked my eyes out," her daemon said chidingly. "That's some contest those children have." Lyra nodded ever so slightly.

"I know, Pan," she whispered, "I found no comfort while you dealt with it. But I thank you."

Ramses was in Bella's lap as a squirrel again, laying pleasantly still as she stroked his velvety head. Abruptly, he changed to a dormouse and skittered up to Bella's shoulder and, like Pantalaimon, discreetly whispered.

"When do you think you'll see him again?" Bella had been considering this the whole trip home. "That is, other than when you normally see him?"

A sharp bend in the tunnel caused the car to jostle a bit, causing Ramses to grip Bella's shoulder. Bella contemplated it.

"I don't know," she whispered, trying to keep her words away from her mother's ears. "I suppose I could ask Mother if I could see him later in the week, when school is out. But I'm sure she would be suspicious of me wanting to see him…"

Ramses huffed a little laughing sigh. "You give your mother too little credit, Bella. If she doesn't already see how you feel for him by now, well, she never will."

And Bella knew that. Of _course _she knew it. Bella knew everything she'd said and done gave it away. She was at that awkward age when it's one thing to admit to yourself that you have feelings for someone, but something entirely different when tell someone else – or rather, one's parents – that you fancy someone.

"You may as well tell her now," Ramses went on. "You have nothing to fear."

_Of course not,_ Bella thought, but it was so dreadfully peculiar to talk about such things, such new emotions with her mother. Her mother, whom she was so very close to; almost like sisters they were in what they shared with one another. But it was that very closeness that made it so difficult to openly tell her about Theo. It was a barrier to cross, and she was still afraid to do it.

Bella nodded, and not so secretly that her mother didn't notice. Lyra knew Ramses and her daughter were seriously discussing something, but kept to herself and her own thoughts.

Lyra reflected on her own day. Seeing Bella in the full bloom of youthful energy, the young man she obviously had taken a shine to, and her own memories of Daniel and Will. She was feeling better since talking things over with Ma Costa, and as the distance between she and the fairgrounds increased, her sadness began to diminish. Still, the revelations she'd had stayed with her.

Bella drew a deep breath and looked straight ahead, through the window on the other side of the car, out at the dark interior of the tunnel. Occasionally she could make out a few streaking lights as they passed, some odd brick and stone work and the errant bundle of pipework and anbaric cables. She marveled at the complexity of the workings of subterranean Oxford. A whole other world going under just underneath her own, but not really a separate world; it was a _part _of the world she knew, and without it, much of her world would not function. It was as critical to everyday life as any above-ground goings-on.

_Secrets just below the surface, _Bella thought. _And all very important._ Yes, she would tell her mother outright.

Bella turned to her mother, swiftly enough that it caught both her and her mother off guard. Bella stared at Lyra for a few seconds, her face a blend of fear, determination, and bravery. Ramses returned to his squirrel form and found his way to her hands, where Bella began stroking him again, for comfort, without even realizing she was doing it.

"Mother, I have something to tell you."

Lyra smiled warmly, but restrained herself from being too broadly.

Her daughter went on. "I…well, I like Theo Balfour quite a lot. And, I, well, I just thought you ought to know that."

Lyra had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing to amusement. The stern seriousness on her daughter's face was priceless, and furthermore, it was, Lyra realized, a sizable step in her young daughter's life.

Lyra nodded, as if she hadn't the slightest idea of what had been going on between her daughter and Theo, and arched an eyebrow in a way that said, _What a surprise…glad to hear it!_

"I see," said Lyra, as she closed her horticulture book and held it in both hands. "Well, how does he feel about you?"

Bella wasn't sure how her mother was going to act once she'd told her how she felt, but she certainly didn't expect her mother to ask her such a question. It seemed reasonable enough, though Bella felt the strange need to go on the defensive.

"Oh, he feels the same about me, I suppose," she said with a forced bit of nonchalance in her voice.

Lyra's smile grew. "That is wonderful to hear," she said. "He's a wonderful young man."

Bella's apprehension began to melt. She was talking to her mother very easily about it all. And she knew her mother like Theo well enough, but in this context it was relieving to hear that her mother's approval of him had not waned.

"He is, isn't he?" Bella said. "He was…well, he was very clever in today's game."

Bella and Lyra stared at one another for a moment. Lyra knew how sacred the game was to her daughter and the other children, how taboo it was to talk about it in any way with an adult, particularly one's own parent. _This boy must be something quite special, _Lyra thought, _for her to talk about the game at all_.

"Was he, now?" Lyra replied. She wouldn't push the point; if Bella wanted to talk about Authority, she'd let her do so with no prying from her mother.

"Yes, yes. I haven't told you much about it—" Bella stopped for a moment; she couldn't believe she was speaking about the game with her mother, but once she'd finally voiced her affection for Theo, it seemed she could tell her mother just about anything now.

Ramses whispered into Bella's ear once more. "Are you daft? You can't tell your mother about the game—"

Bella continued on, ignoring her daemon. "There was one part of the game where Theo fooled all the men on the corn tanker into getting rid of all their corn." Bella paused for a moment. "I mean, I hope the men didn't lose any more or anything like that, but Theo did that all by himself!"

Lyra knew perfectly well what Theo had done – she and Ma Costa spoke with the corn tanker's captain when they retrieved Ma's hen from the tanker's mast, after all – but she did concede the point that Theo was indeed a young man with a wit and personality beyond his years.

Lyra was moments away from bringing up Bella's masterminding of the capture of Ma Costa's hen (she thought better of it; best to let that matter wait for another day), when Bella asked her mother something she was not prepared for.

"Mum, was Father clever?"

The smile on Lyra's face receded, though her face still showed warmth.

"Yes," Lyra said as she placed her book in a large jacket pocket. "He was clever. And terribly thoughtful."

Lyra was glad to be talking to Bella about Daniel. Her daughter had asked questions over the years about her deceased father, and Lyra gladly answered them. Lyra did not care to overwhelm her young daughter in one sitting with all the details of her father and how he came into – and left – Lyra's life. All Bella really knew was that he was very ill and passed away when Bella was very young, and that he loved Bella and Lyra very much. There was more to tell; more that needed to be told. And Lyra felt Bella was nearly old enough to hear it.

Bella turned sideways in her seat, crossing her legs and stroking Ramses, who'd now become an orange tabby. "What was something Father did that was clever?"

Lyra grinned and stared into space, trying to recall an appropriate instance. Pantalaimon dropped into Lyra's lap as she thought.

After a moment, it came to Lyra. She laughed at the memory.

"Ah, yes. It was a few years after I met your father. We were at one of the jewelry shops in Banbury. Your father wanted to buy me a gift, and he said he'd get me whatever my heart desired. I had seen a bracelet in the shop window on a few occasions, but never thought to purchase it. I didn't ordinarily make such extravagant purchases, but it was such an exquistively crafted piece, and told myself if the opportunity came, I would make it mine."

Bella shifted to get more comfortable. She was enraptured.

Lyra went on. "Offhandedly, I mentioned the bracelet to your Father. It was very expensive, you see, I didn't want him to go to the trouble of buying it for me. Nevertheless, we went to the shop. I told him I'd be perfectly happy with something else, but he said _he _wouldn't be happy until I was."

"Father was very good to you, wasn't he?" said Bella.

Lyra paused. "Yes. While we were together, he was. And I made certain that I reciprocated. So, we went to the shop just before closing time and I noticed the bracelet was no longer in the window. But something seemed off. The rest of the items in the window had been scattered a bit; nudged ever so slightly. I could tell something was wrong.

"Your father peered into the shop through the window, as I did also. We could see no one inside. No shopkeeper, no customers. So, he tried the door to see if it was open, and it was.

"We went inside very slowly. I no longer cared for the bracelet or any gift. I didn't feel it was safe to be there, but your father and I both knew that if someone had been hurt, or if the shop had been burgled, that we ought to let someone know about it.

"Your father called out to see if anyone was there, but no one answered back. We were very cautious, and took only a few steps inside, when we heard a moaning coming from behind the shopkeeper's counter. We ran to see what the noise was, and it was the shopkeeper and his daemon, lying there on the floor!"

Bella was literally on the edge of her seat.

"It looked as if he had been struck on the head, and he was just now waking. Your father went 'round back of the counter to help him. The shopkeeper told us a man had come into the shop asking about his wares, but when his back was turned the thief knocked him out. Your father and I told him about the missing bracelet, and after a bit of looking, the shopkeeper figured the thief had made off with several necklaces and pendants, as well as the bracelet in the window."

"Wouldn't the thief have worried about customers coming into the shop?" asked Bella.

"The shopkeeper figured the thief must have waited till later in the day, when there would be less chance for customers to come in and meddle with his scheme. Just then, we heard a crash from a back storeroom. We all fell silent. Your father figured it was the thief; he must have seen us approaching through the window just after he knocked out the shopkeeper and took the jewelry, and needed to hide.

"Your father said to the shopkeeper, 'He's probably trying to escape; do you have a backalley door, or a hatch in the roof?' The shopkeeper said there was a hatch that led to the roof from the storeroom. Your father thought for a moment, and looked at the two of us. He had a plan, but he didn't fully tell us what it was. All he asked was if there was another way to the roof of the shop, and that we make sure to pound loudly on the storeroom door once we heard screaming. The shopkeeper gave me a puzzled look, but I knew your father knew what he was doing.

"The shopkeeper told us of a ladder that ran alongside the backdoor of the store, out in the alley. Your father went around back, and up onto the roof. The shopkeeper and I waited quietly by the door. The shopkeeper only shook his head, fearing for the worst. 'Shouldn't we call for help?' he asked. 'I don't know what your husband is up to, but it's a grave risk he takes! Does he mean to harm the man?' I told him that Daniel never would harm anyone, even a criminal, for it was in his nature to change someone for the better than to injure them beyond repair.

"For I knew something about your father that I haven't yet told you. He had an artificial leg, below the right knee."

Bella gasped. She nearly fell off the railcar seat, and Ramses simultaneously changed to a finch and leapt to her shoulder.

"Father had a false leg? How did he lose it? When?"

"Sometime before I met him. He lost it in a terrible accident when he was a young man. But he moved most naturally with the artificial leg of his, and no one would know for a moment that he was any different from anyone else.

"For you see, he never wanted to feel that his leg was a thing to feel sorrow over, but rather chose to see it as a gift; something that set him apart of other people. Your father's leg was hollow, and he'd managed at one point to make a little hinged flap on it. This way, he could carry small things with him and keep his hands free. He felt it was, as he put it, a 'superpower.' "

Bella's eyes were wide with wonder. How could her mother have never mentioned this? Could all this really be true?

"Your father's daemon was a redbreasted swallow named Augustina. He had an idea to frighten the thief into doing his bidding, and he would do it with Augustina's help.

"He opened the flap on his leg, and Augustina flew inside."

Bella simply shook her head, her mouth agape.

"He had never asked his daemon to do so before, but he knew this course of action was the only way for his plan to come off. It was difficult for Augustina in such a small space with so little air, but your father would only need a minute or so anyhow.

"Your father found the hatch on the roof, and stood there and waited. The thief was pounding on the hatch; it was latched from the outside. When the thief paused for a moment between blows to the hatch, your father undid the latch and stepped back. The thief popped the hatch open.

"And standing before him was your father. The thief recoiled. 'Stay back or I'll bash your head in!' said the thief, who had a piece of pipework in his hand. But your father stood calmly, staring at the man. And all he said was, 'You can't scare a man who has no daemon.'

"The thief looked all about. His own daemon – your father said it was a snake; _I_ never saw it, but he got a good look at the scoundrel – was slithering frantically around the man's neck. The thief looked all about your father, then to the sides and all around the rooftop. Nowhere, in broad daylight, could he see your father's daemon.

"The thief stood there on the ladder, half in and half out of the hatch, frozen in terror by the sight of your father, while Augustina was safely hidden from view."

Bella clapped her hands in astonishment. "No daemon! The man must have been scared out of his wits! Father was brilliant!" The sight of a daemonless human in Lyra and Bella's world was a truly horrific sight, one that would put terror and gloom into the hearts of even the most fearsome people of her world. Including the thief, who, though violent and treacherous, was not immune to the fright of being in the midst of a daemonless man.

"Promptly, the thief dropped the pipe he was carrying and started screaming. The shopkeeper and I heard the man, and we started pounding on the door, just as your father had requested. He screamed even louder."

" 'There are more like me on the other side of that door,' said your father, who was staring the thief down with a ghostly stare. 'We have come to punish you for what you have done and the thieving life you lead.' Your father had no way of knowing if the man was a lifetime criminal, but even he wasn't, I'm sure the man believed it at that moment.

"I could hear the man holler, 'Let me live! Don't hurt me! Let me live!' At the time, I hadn't the foggiest idea what your father was doing. Your father then told the man, 'Hand me all that you have stolen from this shop, and I will let you live. _But, _if you ever so much as look greedily at a trinket around some beggarwoman's wrist, I will be there. And the others will be there with me. And we will make you pay.'

"And with that, the man scurried back into the storeroom below, grabbed the sackful of jewelry, and handed it all to your father. He told the man he could leave, but he had to step back several paces until the man felt he was a safe distance from your eerie-looking father.

"The man left, and ran off into the evening. The man never returned to that shop again. And the shopkeeper was so grateful for what your father had done, that he gave me this."

Lyra pushed back the sleeve of her jacket to reveal the very same bracelet that had been in the store window. It had an ornate silver rope pattern with inlaid jade and topaz. It gleamed softly in the light of the anbaric railcar lamps.

Bella smiled widely. "_That's_ the bracelet! I didn't realize that's how you got it!"

Lyra nodded. "I may have told you once that your father gave it to me. And that was how he went about doing it." Then Lyra turned from Bella, who was still frozen with amazement, and retrieved the horticulture book from her jacket and casually began to read again. Pantalaimon snickered.

"Giving the girl a moment of quiet to let it all sink in, are we?" Lyra's daemon said. "That was quite a story to tell all at once."

_How else would I have told it? _Lyra thought. _And she'd better get accustomed to hearing tales of her father, for they're all true and they're even more fantastic than that one._

Bella turned and look at the floor, unblinking. Ramses was hopping about on the seat next to her, his little wings flapping without flying. Bella knew he didn't like the thought of being stuck in a cramped space as Augustina had been.

Bella turned to her mother. "And Father's daemon was alright?"

Lyra threw back her head and laughed. "Quite alright, dear. A bit frightened, but she did what she had to do. As did your father."

The railcar master appeared in the doorway of the railcar's cabin. "Approaching Westingbrook Station. Approaching Westingbrook Station. Prepare to disembark." He shut the door and returned to his operator's seat.

Bella and Lyra began gathering up their things. There was so much she did not know about her father. And her mother, for that matter. She had so many questions to ask, burning questions that made her feel as if she'd explode if she didn't ask them all at once. But she sensed Mother was not yet ready to answer them even if she asked. Or did she? Perhaps it was the _fear _of her mother saying no, the prospect of being shut off from her mother, to whom she was so close.

_There are things about me which Mother doesn't know, either, _she thought. Private things that children did not wish to discuss with parents. And if her mother said yes to answering her questions, would Bella not be obliged to yield all the answers to whatever questions Lyra had for her?

Bella thought about the word her mother had used, the word that she said her father used to refer to his leg – _superpower. _She'd never heard the word before, but she liked it. Did Theo have a superpower too, to make those men on that ship give up their corn? Surely he must. Perhaps not a _true_ power, nothing mystical or magical…but he had a power nonetheless. And that excited her.

They pulled into Westingbrook Station. With questions on both of their minds, Lyra and Bella took each other's hands, and wordlessly left the railcar.

* * *

Later that evening, an unassuming zeppelin arrived in Oxford a few minutes before midnight. The bulk of the vehicle was jetblack in color, and was barely visible to the untrained eye – one would perhaps notice a floating starless mass in the midnight sky, but would shake off the visual aberration, chalk it up to tired eyes, and pay it no further mind.

The zeppelin hovered directly above one of the spires of the abandoned College of St. Jerome, in particular the tower that once housed the Consistorial Court. The pilot of the craft locked the controls in place, keeping the craft at a momentary standstill, while another hooded figure lowered a rope anchor that looped around a large protruding mooring hook attached to the spire. The second hooded figure pulled on the rope, and the loop tightened. The zeppelin was now docked and camouflaged.

A rope ladder was lowered, its length extending past the mooring hook by roughly six feet, stopping at a trapdoor on the side of the spire that, like the hook, had not been part of the structure when it had originally been built.

The second figure climbed down the rope ladder, which was also black, and shimmied into the trapdoor. The first figure waited at the controls, ready to sever the rope at a moment's notice. Though it had only just arrived, the craft would be departing soon.

Once inside, the second figure removed his mask. He was not an Oxford native; he appeared to be from the Orient of Lyra's world. His tarantula daemon clung lovingly to the nape of his neck. His brow was tattooed with an ornate feather pattern, and his eyes were solid black.

Inside the trapdoor was a small platform. Once he gained his footing on it, he made an affirmative hand signal to the first figure in the zeppelin and closed the trapdoor behind him.

The interior of the structure was utterly dark, save the moonlight that streamed mercifully in through its old, murky windows. The man had particularly acute vision in the darkness, and had no trouble finding the top of a series of rungs that ran along in the inside wall of the spire and down to the floor below. The rungs, like the hook and the trapdoor, were recent contrivances.

Once on the floor of the old Consistorial Court's chamber, he crossed to the chamber's podium, still in its old position and filthy from the lack of upkeep over the years since the dissolving of the Court. He grabbed it by its sides and shifted it off its footing. Beneath was a flat piece of floor tile not unlike the rest of the flooring. He pried it up with his fingers to reveal three pieces of copper wiring – like the zeppelin, unassuming to the untrained eye.

The man tugged on the center bit of wiring three times; the left bit of wiring twice, and the right bit once. One by one, the pieces of wiring disappeared into the floor, drawn in by an unseen force, until there was nothing but three small holes.

Satisfied, the man replaced the tile and the podium and waited. A few moments later, a man with long black-and-grey hair appeared from another secret door that rested beneath a large table near the main entrance of the chamber. The man with the tarantula daemon smiled, as the daemon crept down his shoulder and clung to his right forearm.

The long-haired man had a pale, youthful face despite the noticeable amount of wrinkles that radiated from the corners of his eyes and mouth. He had a weary, determined look in his eyes, and he was barely able to keep his excitement hidden. His praying mantis daemon perched steadily on his shoulder.

"So, was it a success?" The long-haired man took his visitor by the shoulders, staring into him with polite ferocity.

The visitor from the zeppelin, who was simply known as N, nodded stoically. "He learned what he needed to know. What we all needed to know. He is in the zeppelin now. He will take us to the next location."

The long-haired man burst with joyful laughter, hugging N much to his surprise, and patted him firmly on the back.

"Julius," said N to the long-haired man, "we should move with haste. Though well-hidden, the craft may be spotted by those with sharp eyes."

"None are as sharp as yours," said Julius Kronauer, the last living member of the old Consistorial Court. "No one can see what you can see, nor what I have seen these long years. And it's coming into clearer focus with every passing day. Tell him we're ready."

N closed his eyes, sending a telepathic command to the hooded figure waiting in the zeppelin. Upon receiving the go-ahead from N, the figure moved his hand over a veiny stone sphere embedded in the control console of the zepellin. Within moments, the zeppelin went from all black to standard zeppelin coloration, and the large crest of a fictitious trading company appeared emblazed across the craft's bulging canvas.

Julius was already dressed for departure. One thing he had learned over the last two decades was that one had to be ready for a complete and expeditious exit when the time called for it and, more importantly, when it did not.

"And that's _Father_ Julius, if it pleases you, N. At least, it shall be soon again. Let us dawdle no further. Onto the next window. I need to be taught a lesson."

The men made their way up to the zeppelin, and were gone within minutes.


	9. Diviner of the Bones

**NINE **

****

**DIVINER OF THE BONES**

Quiet surrounded Vestra's secluded home for miles in all directions. The noises in the vicinity of the hut were scarce but beautiful: a symphony of songbeetles in the outlying brush; the occasional whoop of an phantom crane; and the soft rustling of leaves as the night air rushed on, moving with timeless urgency. There were no chimes hanging from the eave of the hut; Vestra feared she'd confuse their sound with that of her alarm contraption.

Pa'Rin had to steady herself as she entered the hut – partially due to the surprising declaration Vestra had made about knowing who she and her parents were, and mostly because of the overpoweringly fragrant aroma that wafted into her nostrils as she crossed the threshold of the doorway. The home smelled – _reeked –_ of reiberries, jirsin blossom, ranjaro wood oil, hyllaria weed, and a dozen other scents Pa'Rin recognized. How she managed to tell them all apart, she could not say. _If Rymar's nose had a mind, it would surely go quite mad, _though Pa'Rin. Indeed, Rymar was at the tiny, spoke-paned window at the front of Vestra's hut, peering in at his small human friend and fogging the window's glass as he sampled what little air escaped the home.

Vestra's hut was a cacophony of color and dim, rosy light and shadow. Earthy-looking objects populated untold, split-log shelves, all apparently handmade and older than time. Scent-burning lamps (no doubt the origin of much of what Pa'Rin was breathing) were perched everywhere, some at seemingly impossible angles, seemingly on the brink of tipping. Phials and earthen cups sat all about, coexisting peacefully with the other curiosities of the old woman's home, each marked with white chalky symbols, same with small colored flags to help Vestra tell them apart when she needed them. No good confusing the powdered eel skin with the extract of jirsin blossom when one was making tea.

The walls were coated with craterous, pocked mud – perhaps not _just_ mud, for these walls were too orange for that; mud mixed with something else? Something that glittered when the light of the lamps played off the uneven surfaces. Whatever it was, Pa'Rin assumed it came from the woods nearby; it seemed that everything, from the rug at her feet to the arches bracing against the hut's tightly-thatched roof, was made of either plant, earth, or stone.

"Sit, my dear little one! Sit, yes oh yes!" Vestra whipped a hole-riddled scarlet sheet off the back of a chair, tucking it into a crude chest of drawers by the front door. "Sit and I will start a fire to warm us."

Though she had only just met the woman, as far as she could recall, Pa'Rin felt no fear. The woman evoked a sense of family in Pa'Rin – not in the biological sense, but of a kinship that need not be spoken to be felt. It felt _right_ to be there. Pa'Rin breathed deeply for the first time in a long while.

The girl relaxed in the rickety yet curiously comfortable seat Vestra had offered her. It appeared to be made of ranja wood, twine, and nothing more. _But so soft, _Pa'Rin considered.

She nearly said so to Vestra, but suddenly opted not to. All of her questions and concerns had left her, and felt not panic that they had. Perhaps it was something Vestra was burning in the lamps that made her feel that way. But Pa'Rin knew better. She had important work to do, and could not stay for long.

_I must find out what happened to Mother and Father. _

Vestra hunched over (painfully, it seemed to Pa'Rin) in front of a small stone pit in a corner of the hut. She held a glassy black agate in her gnarled right hand, turning it over a few times. After a moment, she whispered some muffled speech, and a blaze sprung up from the bottom of the pit. Pa'Rin simply shook her head and gawked as a disbelieving giggle found its way past her lips.

"I am preparing a drink for us, my little blessing," Vestra said. Pa'Rin smiled, noting the woman's recognition of her namesake.

The old woman hung a small metallic container from a strip of treated twine that hung above the fiery pit and stretched between where the walls met in the corner. She poured water from another container (this one earthen) into the metallic one, and crushed a handle of dried leaves and berries into the bubbling liquid. "If it pleases you," the old woman said, "you may look more closely at my home. I'll not force you to stay in that chair while I see you plainly hoping to explore."

Pa'Rin blushed, feeling a bit shy of herself for the first time since she'd come inside. Indeed, her curiosity was as palpable as the taste of reiberry smoke on her tongue. Did she look like a fool staring so goggle-eyed at Vestra's belongings? After all, Pa'Rin had _never _seen a home like Vestra's – nor had many other people in Trylia, for that matter.

But the girl felt no need to explore at the moment. She felt like sitting still, absorbing the luxuriously acrid ambience of the home. Time seemed to crawl here, as if Vestra's little domain chose not to race along with the rest of Trylia. It had only be a few hours, but it seemed forever ago that her parents had vanished, and the journey she and Rymar embarked upon had taken more out of her than she anticipated.

After a short while, the concoction was ready. Vestra used worn wooden tongs to lift the metal container, and pour some of the sweet, steaming liquid into a fresh mug.

"Sip this, my dear little one," Vestra cooed to Pa'Rin as she handed her the drink. "Something to warm you from soul to skin." Pa'Rin smiled politely. She sniffed at the beverage, placing her nose close to the mug to help discern its scent from the hut's circulating air. _If Mother and Father were here, they might warn me not to drink from a stranger's cup. But Vestra is no stranger, I feel. I never cared for when Mother and Father were strict with me, but now I would not mind so much, for it would mean they would be home safely. I do not know if this old woman is whom you wanted me to find, Mother, but I know you'd be happy that I have._

Pa'Rin stared into the dark steaming liquid. Oh, how she feared for them, if in fact they were still alive. She wished for any sign from them, or of them, if even in a vision, to tell them she is safe and on her way to find them. Even if she hadn't the faintest idea what she'd do _when _she'd found them, if she was to find them at all.

Vestra filled two more mugs, and went out to share one with Rymar, who slurped at the drink happily. Rymar too felt perfectly at ease with the woman, having forgiven her completely for the attempted attack on he and Pa'Rin. Perhaps it was that Pa'Rin showed no apprehension toward her, and thusly informed the tralion that all was well. Or perhaps, like Pa'Rin, he knew on some level that this woman hid nothing and bore only good tidings. At least, as well as a tralion could perceive such a thing.

While Vestra was outside, Pa'Rin got up and crossed to a small three-legged table on the other side of the hut. Beside the table on one side was a wide padded bench (_She must have sewn the cushion herself, _Pa'Rin thought), and on the other was a rumpled, comfortable-looking bed; not large by any means, but with enough support to give the old woman a pleasant night's rest.

Atop the table was an assortment of objects as Pa'Rin had never laid eyes on. At the center of the table, she saw a bowl-shaped depression. After closer inspection, she saw that there was a hole cut into the tabletop, and a half-sphere was resting in the hole by a lip that circled its top edge. Resting at the bottom of the bowl was a pile of small bones; animal bones, Pa'Rin hoped. A shiver of dread unexpectedly struck her, slightly dampening the pleasance she'd been feeling. The chill from her flight began to return.

Surrounding the mouth of the depression was a collection of rough-edged pieces of paper with dark, scrawled writing. Pa'Rin could read, and even knew a fair amount of words and phrases from Trylian dialects other than her own; but this was the first she'd ever seen characters such as these. Many of the papers were held down at all corners by brightly color stones, all cut at precise angles, defying a natural shape. Peeking out from the edges of the papers were carved symbols – some she recognized, others like those on the papers and phials – that circled the depression in the center.

"Did you find the broth to your pleasure, my dear?" Vestra had come back inside, too quietly for Pa'Rin's liking, jolting the girl a bit and nearly splashing the drink onto her already dirtied garments. What comfort had been there before was beginning to wane ever so slightly. She felt no threat, but she did not feel altogether welcome, either. __

"I am sorry, good woman," said Pa'Rin, using the formal address children used when speaking to adult women in her world. "I have not yet tasted it. It smells delightful, though. I wanted to see what was on this table of yours."

Vestra cackled softly, reassuringly. Pa'Rin never thought it possible to hear such a strange laugh sound so pleasant, and in spite of the unease that was growing within her, it had something of a counteractive, calming effect on her.

"Dear oh dear, please call me Vestra. Though I thank you for calling me a good woman." Vestra raised the hand that had been holding the black firestone and motioned toward Pa'Rin. "That 'table' is not a table at all, so you see. That is my divining _prahma._ Have you heard of such an instrument, my dear?"

Pa'Rin thought hard. She thought perhaps her mother had mentioned something of the tools of divination in one of her lessons, but if she had it was spoken of offhandedly, as a footnote. She knew parents did not believe in such rituals, and would give little credence to them and the teaching of their practice.

"I believe so," Pa'Rin said, "but I did not know what it was called." She took a sip of the drink at last, feeling a wave of sweet, tangy flavor fill her mouth, while the warmth of the liquid melted away the remains of the chill she'd received from the night air. Her eyes drifted from the old woman and back to the prahma. "What do you do with it?"

Vestra ambled toward the girl and the prahma, resting her own mug on an anomalously bare spot of shelf. "I use it to hear what the bones have to say, yes oh yes."

Pa'Rin swallowed hard and furrowed her brow all at once. The unease, she felt, was rebounding. And she found it difficult to concentrate on the thought of finding her parents. She took a step back and spoke powerfully.

"I thank you for your kindness, Vestra, but my tralion and I must leave at once. I believe my parents are in grave danger, and we have lost our way—"

"Oh, but you haven't, my little blessing. It is understandable, yes, that you may see that this is so. But you have lost the trail you had been following. And though I often rely on the bones to tell me what truths I seek to know, I say truly of my own accord that you will not find your parents without Vestra's help, so you see."

Pa'Rin's eyes brightened. "Do you mean to say they are alive?"

Vestra gave a brief but noticeable glance toward the prahma. "Yes. They are."

Pa'Rin cocked her head slightly. Such wonderful news…but how could this old woman know? Pa'Rin was grateful for the hospitality Vestra had afforded her, and for her willingness to help, but she spoke of things she could not possibly know about. Pa'Rin's feelings of trust and apprehension were matched evenly. It was her desperation kept her from leaving Vestra's home outright.

"How do you know of these things, Vestra? You say you know myself and my parents, but I have never met you. Or have I met you when you may have been disguised? My parents told me there are many people in Trylia who wish to do me harm—"

Pa'Rin froze. She was only speaking hypothetically, but the nagging sensation that the old woman may be hiding something intensified. The girl composed herself and continued. "Respectfully, Vestra, why must I listen to what you have to say? Forgive me; you have shown me nothing but kindness—"

"I did launch my weapon at you," Vestra said matter-of-factly.

Pa'Rin blinked. Yes, that was true. "But you did not know who we were," the girl countered, trying not to let the old woman's observation sway her train of thought. "But now that you _do_ know—"

"Yes oh yes, I do know, my dear Pa'Rin. The question I pose to you is, do _you _know who you are?"

The girl stared blankly at the old woman, who seemed now to only speak in contradictions and riddles. Pa'Rin eyed the front window; she could not see her tralion.

_He must be resting. Please, Ves, let him be resting. _

"My dear little one," Vestra said calmly and directly, as if she were done toying with Pa'Rin, "I am so very sorry, yes oh yes. Vestra does not mean to trick you or tell you half-truths or no-truths. It is not Vestra's way, no Ves no. I do give you my oath that Vestra will speak only all-truths, and she may endeavor to answer all questions you have for her, in as plain a way as Vestra can muster. How sounds that?"

Pa'Rin considered the offer. She'd answer any question asked of her – Pa'Rin believed this. Whether the answers would be easily decipherable – Pa'Rin was not sure that that promise could be kept.

"Yes, that sounds reasonable." Pa'Rin cleared her throat, and without thinking, asked her first question.

"How do you know who I am, and who my parents are?" Pa'Rin hoped that the old woman had only heard gossip from the nearby villages and local merchants of her existence, but even if that were so, it still didn't explain how she could use that information to determine who the little girl that fell from the sky and into her vacant field was.

Vestra nodded. "A fair question. I have met your parents before, and you as well." The old woman volunteered nothing more. Pa'Rin frowned.

"When?"

Vestra smiled. "I met with your parents for the first time shortly before you were born. As for yourself, my blessing, I helped deliver you from your mother."

And time stopped momentarily for Pa'Rin. The air sat still in her lungs, unexpelled, and the old woman's drifted on the perfumed air like a far-off tralion soaring on the currents. Pa'Rin shook her head again, slowly and unconsciously. She needed no words for her next question; Vestra already knew what it was.

"Perhaps it is best that I share how it was I came upon your parents, and thus how I helped your mother and father bring you into this world. And, further, why Vestra has not seen you since that day, yes oh yes."

Pa'Rin realized she had unknowingly tipped her mug and spilled the contents onto the floor. She began to look for something to dab up the purple mess with, but Vestra playfully shooed her away from the task.

"I am sorry, Vestra," Pa'Rin half-whispered, still unable to speak at full volume. "You have spoken things that have stunned me. Forgive me." Pa'Rin bowed slightly to Vestra, but the old woman would have none of it, gently reaching out and lifting Pa'Rin's head up with an ancient finger. The old woman's face rumpled as she smiled at the girl, her eyes moist with age and emotion. Pa'Rin was moved by the feeling in Vestra's gaze.

"I would hear more, please," the girl said, tucking her questions away for the moment, just as Vestra had tucked away the scarlet sheet.

The old woman waved her hand over the prahma, like a merchant parading their wares to a prospective buyer. "It is the bones who introduced me to your parents."

Pa'Rin squinted at the prahma. "I do not understand," she said. Vestra nodded, as if to say, _Of course you do not, my child, but Vestra _said _she would tell you all you need know. _Pa'Rin put a hand to her mouth and nodded back, faithfully, knowing the answers would soon come. She folded her hands together and listened.

The old woman negotiated her way around the prahma, and plopped down onto the cushioned bench with a strained but positive sigh. "It is not so much that the bones speak themselves, no Ves no! The bones are but messengers. They do not make the message; they simply relay the knowledge. They are but conduits of the beyond and of the—"

Pa'Rin's confused expression deepened. Vestra, upon seeing this, again cackled that same oddly comforting cackle.

"Bless me Ves, I am sorry, yes oh yes. Vestra forgets that she must reap the grain before she bakes the loaf. Where to start, yes oh yes…" Vestra closed her shriveled lids and nodded to herself.

"First, let me show you this, my child." Vestra held her necklace-bound medallion out to Pa'Rin. At first sight, it appeared no stranger than any piece of jewelry she had seen in her mother's collection. But as her eyes traced the curvature of the medallion's edges, she picked out minute etchings resembling the carvings on the prahma's top, and noticed a circular hole in the direct center of the medallion—

"It looks just like a tiny prahma!" blurted Pa'Rin.

Vestra nodded. "Indeed, my little one. Now, tell me, have you ever heard the farmers in Kaasitar sounding their horns at the end of day, when the harvesting is through and night begins to settle, as they call upon the other farmers to retire for the evening?"

Pa'Rin nodded carefully. She didn't know where Vestra's explanation was headed, but listened fiercely.

"You may say in a sense, yes oh yes, that Vestra's medallion is akin to the farmer's horn. But rather than calling upon farmers to do as I ask, I use it so that I may call upon the voices in the _psi'vali_."

Pa'Rin knew this word; her parents said it was the life force of all good and wise beings, and that she was rich with it. Vestra paused for Pa'Rin to begin asking questions again.

"There are voices in the _psi'vali_?" asked Pa'Rin. "Mother and father never spoke of this, not even idly."

"That is sensible to Vestra," the old woman said. "There are few who have such knowledge. Or rather, there are few who would choose to believe such a thing to be true. I am one such Trylian who believes. And practices, so you see." She let the medallion hang low again, fixing her eyes on the bones in the prahma.

"To begin the divination, I speak what is written upon the medallion and on the prahma, like this." Vestra shut her lids once more and muttered words of a foreign tongue as she moved the medallion in a continuous circular pattern above the prahma. She did not do this for very long, and when finished, resumed her explanation.

"So you see, Vestra understands that knowledge is not limited to the minds of Trylians. Knowledge and life are in all things. _Psi'vali _is everywhere. But most Trylians, they are not so keen of ear that they may hear all that is true in the world. So, it is with the aid of the prahma and the medallion that I may improve my hearing."

Pa'Rin laughed lightly and genuinely. As fantastic as the old woman's words were, she seemed to follow with no trouble.

Vestra cleared a space for herself on the prahma, moving a few of the mysterious papers and stones aside. She rested her arms on the prahma's flat top, and run her fingers along the top lip of the prahma's depression. "It is with the medallion that I call upon the _psi'vali _to speak its truth to me when I may hear it. However, it is the bones that relay what the _psi'vali _ has to say."

Pa'Rin craned her head a bit, peering once again at the modest pile of small bones.

"Are they Trylian?" Pa'Rin asked with a brave face.

Vestra paused thoughtfully. "Yes, my child, but do not fear. Vestra did not slay a single man or woman or child. These are but gifts from those who came before. I am part of an ancient collective of diviners of the bones. It is our way that when we die, we may bestow the gift of our bones to those in the collective that are still living. For what better bones to divine with than those who believe in their sacred power?" The old woman smiled unapologetically.

The young girl, though, did not flinch, but was fascinated with the potential of this practice, if even part of what Vestra said was true. And it did Pa'Rin's heart some good to know that the bones had not been acquired through nefarious means, however unsettling the notion was.

Pa'Rin stared intently at the bones now, matching their shapes to those she had been taught about by her parents when studying the anatomy of the Trylian body. She thought she recognized an index finger joint at the top, and a portion of an ankle bone jutting from the bottom. The rest were an eerily beautiful jumble of milky curves and shadows, and all alarming clean.

"Whom did these bones belong to, Vestra?"

"Were those of a dear, dear friend. Kupestri was his name. Many phases did he live, and much did he heed the bones. I was most saddened by his departure from our world, but it is joy that now fills my heart, knowing that he shall assist Vestra in her quest for knowing, as he takes his place with Ves on the cloud."

Pa'Rin stifled a shudder as she listened, though her mind told her that the old woman meant well and carried a deep respect for the man.

_The man whose bones now sit before me, _she considered.

The young girl sought to shift away from the macabre turn in the conversation. "Why are the bones special? Why are they able to…I mean, what is it that the bones have to do with _psi'vali?_"

Vestra straightened up as best she could, still lovingly gazing at the white remains of her old friend. "The bones are the very core of every creature; the strength, the structure, the solidity. But indeed, they also have many secrets to share."

The old woman reverently lifted half of a femur out of the depression and held it in front of Pa'Rin. "Look closely, my dear. Do you see them, each and every one?"

Pa'Rin nodded. She knew that bones were porous; she had learned as much in her lessons. "Yes, I see the small holes. What of them?"

Vestra studied the bone for herself, bringing it closer to her own eyes. "The _psi'vali_ that we all carry with us comes to rest, if only for a scrap of a moment, in the many little channels and tunnels we all have in the bones. The bones are at the center, and at the center is where the _psi'vali_ rests and converses with itself." Pa'Rin imagined a great cave filled with thousands of interlocking passages, where travelers may rest and converse about their journeys. Was this was Vestra was saying?

The old woman placed the bone fragment in precisely the spot she had taken it from. "The prahma acts as a place for the bones to rest once they are no longer within the Trylian body. The _psi'vali_ lingers on, and it is with this—"

She held up the medallion once again.

"—that we call on the errant _psi'vali_ of the world to join that which lingers in the bones of the prahma. Do you see, my little dear?"

Pa'Rin did not fully understand the complex nature of the prahma and the role the bones played, but she pretended that she did.

"It is important," Vestra went on, "that many scents are burned and cast into the air, for they draw the _psi'vali_ that is foreign to the bones, and soothes the lingering _psi'vali_ into remaining." Pa'Rin's nose twitched with surprise; if a few more scents were introduced into the present mélange, there'd not be a speck of _psi'vali_ for several provinces.

"Once I have summoned the attention of the _psi'vali_, I set about listening." Vestra reached back to her right and lifted a small silvery object from a holding brace mounted into the mud of the wall. The object was no longer than a finger, and was open on one end. It, like the bowl resting in the center of the prahma's hole, had a small lip around the top. Vestra inserted the object – it looked like a phial, but an alien one to Pa'Rin's eyes – into the hole in the center of the medallion.

"This is filled with a blend of hyllaria weed and jirsin extract, as well as other plants from all reaches of Trylia. It is with this that I open myself to the voices of the _psi'vali_ that is drawn to the prahma."

Pa'Rin was a statue; apprehension had given way to fascination. She could not look away.

Vestra held the medallion and phial in one hand, and produced the black firestone once more in the other. She muttered something soundlessly, and a spark sprang to life and leapt into the phial. A tiny orange glow crept out from the top of it, followed by a tiny curl of red-gray smoke that thickened into a steadily ascending plume that snaked upward at mysterious speed.

"The smoke works to place my mind in a state of openness; my body becomes an ear to the voices. With my mind, I speak what I wish to know, and my thoughts – my voice – carries through the smoke and mingles with the voices of the _psi'vali_. I wait for an echo to return. It is the echo of my own voice, but when it reaches Vestra, it is reshaped into the answers to my questions. I do not always hear what I wish to hear, but it is up to Vestra to do well with what is told to me."

She capped the top of the phial with her thumb, killing the tiny unseen flame and the smoke along with it. "On one occasion years ago, I put forth a question I very often ask: 'What may I do today to help the people of Trylia?' And it answered: 'Find the woman and man known as Leital and Agran.'"

Pa'Rin shook out of her stillness. "You heard that from the _psi'vali_? What does the voice sound like?"

Vestra nearly answered, but couldn't. She considered for a moment, plumbing the depths of her memory for a solid answer, but could only find hints and guesses. "I would say that it sounds like myself; as I said before, the voices and the answers that are spoken by them are but transformed echoes. However, I believe that the sound of my voice is but a mask, covering the true sound of the _psi'vali_. I suspect it is a voice made from many; untold numbers too numerous for Vestra to total. When I am in the depths of divination, I perhaps am able to assign a certain quality to the voice; but when I arise from my divining at the prahma, the memory of it vanishes like so much smoke.

"And so it was that I asked, 'What may I do once I find these people?' And the _psi'vali_ replied, 'Help the woman deliver her child.' I asked if I should help in raising you, and the voices said 'Do not speak with her until she is the age of seven; she will find you when it is time to speak with her again.' And find me you did.

"But the _psi'vali_ did not say _how _to find your parents, though I had asked. I have found that the _psi'vali_ answers only questions that need answering.

"One day soon after, as I was coming home from the marketplace, I could hear the anguished cries of a woman from behind a jirsin bush just off the path – forgive, my dear little one, if you have heard the tale of your birth before."

Pa'Rin shook her head, dumbfounded. "This is the first I have heard of this," she said.

Vestra nodded softly. "So I see, yes, yes. I went to see who was in such terrible pain, and I found a woman and a man. The man looked frightened and unsure. He turned to me and said, "Good woman, my wife is about to give birth! Will you assist me?" He told me later that he and his wife were heading home, but that the pangs of childbirth had arisen earlier than they had expected."

Pa'Rin's eyes were wet with tears. It filled her with grief and joy to hear of her parents again.

_Mother and Father never told me this. Oh, how I love them so._

Vestra went on. "It was fortunate that I happened by at that moment. No, no, not merely _fortunate;_ it was _fortune._ Vestra has done many a thing, and helping to bring a child into the world is one of them. Your father had rolled up his cloak and laid it under your mother's head. I took my own cloak and laid it on the ground before your mother, so you would have a clean, soft welcoming into this world.

"Your mother was in too much pain to show her fear. She strained and strained, and your father held her hand and told her that he loved her. And, soon enough, you arrived.

"I took you up in my cloak, and handed you to your mother and father. He cleaned you off with a torn bit of garment he had with him. There was a small stream nearby, and I fetched some water, filling the bladdersack I had with me, so that you and your parents could wash with it."

Vestra paused with a deep sigh. Her eyes too had become damp with emotion. She smiled lovingly at Pa'Rin. The girl had to avert her gaze after a moment, she was so overcome. Pa'Rin let the new knowledge course through her mind, like the _psi'vali_ Vestra had described in the pores of the bones. She could see the pieces of the tale circling around one another, brushing past, connecting and disconnecting. And the sensation was considerable. She managed to speak.

"Was that all the time you spent with my parents, or did you speak with them after my birth?"

"I returned to their home – _your _home – shortly thereafter. They thanked me for my help. Your mother rested with you at her breast, as they two of you slept through the night and into the new day that followed. Your father prepared a meal of gratitude for me that evening."

"Father does cook well."

"Indeed, yes oh yes. But there were things I discussed with your father that evening, and again the following day with your mother – things that the _psi'vali_ had told me, and that I have not yet told to you."

In the pit of her stomach, Pa'Rin felt the tiniest bit of sickness stirring. She did not look forward to the rest of Vestra's tale.

"Before I shared with your parents what the _psi'vali_ had shared with me, I asked them how it was that you came about. Vestra knew this is not a proper nor ordinary question to ask, but I knew the answer I would receive would justify the question. You do know, dear one, that your mother did not conceive you with your father, nor with any other man, yes?"

Pa'Rin nodded shyly. This she knew, and knew it was why she had been named as an unexpected blessing. And she knew it was why she was feared by so many.

"Your parents answered yes. I had to hear it from their own mouths before I told them what the voices had spoken to me. From the _psi'vali_ to the bones, from Vestra to your mother and father, this is what was said:

"I told them that I was not privy to how you came to be, my dear. Nor am I now; the _psi'vali_ decided this was not worth answering, so you see. But they _did _share with Vestra that you come from many places and no places all at once."

Again, the tide of time stopped and Pa'Rin was stranded on the shore, shivering and alone. But she was not afraid. She knew in her heart she could not afford to be. She nodded, almost heroically, and continued. She knew the very fiber of her existence was being laid before her, strand by strand, for the first time. She would miss nothing.

"I told them the day would come when we would meet again, you and I. Since that day when bones spoke of our impending reunion, I have not consulted them."

"You haven't divined since before I was born?" Pa'Rin asked.

"Truly spoken, my little one. But worry not; for an old woman such as I, time passes more quickly, and the wait was over before I knew it. The _psi'vali_ said there would be no need to consult them until such time. And here we are." She showed neither joy nor dread. "The _psi'vali_ spoke of your birth, and spoke of your path in the flow of life. Your future."

Pa'Rin swallowed. "What did it say? Was the news good or bad?" She wanted to know and not know. Could she choose not to believe whatever Vestra said next?

The old woman grinned proudly at the girl. It was obvious to Pa'Rin that Vestra had been preparing for this moment. She thought she would be better equipped for the news she was about to deliver. A solitary tear stumbled down her time-creased cheek.

"The _psi'vali_ informed me of the importance of your life, dear one. Sadly, as I have said before, the messages are not always made as clear as Vestra would care to hear them—"

Pa'Rin frowned with impatience.

"But," Vestra said, "I have sworn to myself that I would do as the psi'vali has instructed me. I know not where to start, for there are many things to tell. Let us begin with a milder truth, shall we?

"You life shall span a great many years, so they said. And when the day comes that you leave this world, when your bones are all that is left and you ascend to Ves' golden cloud, you shall be remembered honorably. You will not die in vain."

Pa'Rin looked at the floor. Not to shrink away from what she was hearing, but to cope with the shock of it. She closed her eyes tightly, nodding a bit, and resumed looking at Vestra.

"I was also told that no living creature of Trylia – no man, no beast – will ever harm you. The _psi'vali_ volunteered this information to me; I know not why, but Vestra does not question such things."

It is Vestra who now averted her eyes. "However, child, harm may befall you nevertheless at the hands of a foreigner."

Pa'Rin moved forward, her hands resting on the prahma as she leaned in closer. "That makes no sense, Vestra … a foreigner … _to Trylia?_" Pa'Rin's thoughts flashed to the Havenworld, the only world foreign to Trylia she was aware of. Never in her visits to that exotic land had she encounter any sentient life forms. Just the moss and the flowers.

Vestra shook her head helplessly, as if to say _I can divine the voices from the _psi'vali_, but I cannot always divine the meaning of their messages._

"Sad to say, yes oh yes, I am at a loss to explain. But it will happen, it pains me to inform you. It is unclear how or when. Many years hence, and yet somehow so much sooner. It is hard to say. I am so sorry."

Pa'Rin knelt before the prahma, falling hard on her knees but barely noticing the pain. Nothing but riddles from the old woman. Nonsense, to be sure … but she spoke with such conviction, with such affection for the girl's well-being … how _could _she be lying?

The girl shook her head. "No. I don't believe them. I don't believe _you._"

"The bones have never lied," the old woman assured her, "and if ever they have, then a fine task of deceiving this old heart have they performed. They are honest messengers. Never have they foretold a thing that has become unhappened."

A red anger rose in Pa'Rin's chest. "What does my death have to do with my parents, old woman? You say that I must let you help me find them, but your words do nothing but confuse and hurt me!" Pa'Rin wanted to run to the door, to hug her dear Rymar around the neck and fly away. But she knew her business with Vestra was unfinished.

Vestra shrugged, as if she had not seen the growing rage in the young girl's eyes. "The _psi'vali_ have offered no _reason _for their news, and never have. They simply answer with honesty. But that is not to say it is _without _reason that you have come to learn such truths. It is Vestra's opinion that you must prepare for your fate, and not attempt to waver from it. You see, the fate I have shown you is but one of many fates; however, it is _this _fate, this path, that you must follow, or else …"

The old woman fell silent. Shook her head. She had heeded the voices with devout obedience all these long years. It made her task no easier, however.

Before Pa'Rin could ask what Vestra was about to say, the old woman spoke up. "There is a legend spoken of in Trylia. The legend of the kaam'da. You have heard of it, yes?"

"Of course," Pa'Rin said hotly. "People have called me that before. Mother says that the people who fear me say those things because it is in their nature to hurt someone with the worst possible words. They say I am a monster, though they do not know me at all. It hurts me when I hear them call me that, but Mother always…what did she say…oh, yes: 'If a man calls another man a horse, there are still only two men standing when all is silent.'"

Vestra stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Yes oh yes, your mother is wise. But what if Vestra told you some of those who called you a kaam'da _actually _believed that you were?"

The little girl shook her head. "That does not matter. I am not the ruin of all things. I know this."

"Vestra did not say that you were, my dear. Vestra does not believe so either. But my collective and I are not the only ones who divine the bones. Others have listened to the voices of the _psi'vali_, through other bones and with other prahmas. And they are not as trusting as Vestra is. They choose to hear the echoes as warnings, not blessings, and as tidings of darkness. They are fearful folk, hearing what they _wish _to hear and not what is truly said, and take everything they hear as a threat. What I am saying, my dearest one, is that Vestra does not see you as a threat; nay, she sees you as the ultimate salvation, yes oh yes. In the depths of my bones do I believe this. But there are others who see you as the kaam'da. They feel you will be the death of us all. And they would carry out what grim plans that they may, if they believe it will serve to destroy that which threatens them.

"It is these people, Pa'Rin, that have taken your parents, I believe."

The crushing weight of it all had finally become too much for Pa'Rin to bear. She sobbed uncontrollably, her head buried in her arms as they rested on the prahma. It seemed impossible to accept, that vast ominous forces far beyond her control were conspiring to doom her. What was it Vestra had said about her life, that she had many years before the end came? Would they be years of prosperity, or of torture? Or something in between; a life that flailed wildly from pain to hope and back again, always living in the shadow of fate?

Rymar, who had been resting in the tall grass outside, heard Pa'Rin's sobs and peered in through the window. His instincts told him that the woman was responsible for the girl's pain, but he could see no sign of physical injury. He butted his muzzle against the door, hoping to get her attention.

Pa'Rin looked up, startled, and went to the door swiftly, throwing it open and embracing Rymar's neck just as she'd wanted to. Rymar sniffed happily at Pa'Rin, but sensed something wasn't right. Vestra simply sat, tired from the task she had just performed, resting for what lay ahead.

The girl scratched behind her tralion's ears as she stared into the night sky. So clear it was, with the stars twinkling peacefully and indifferently. She wished she was dreaming all of this; that she was still back at the pond in the woods, lying on a cool carpet of leaves, with Rymar and her toy sword at her side, having simply fallen into a very bad dream, that her mother would call for her and father would prepare the evening meal. A cruel little squall of chilly air rose up, slapping Pa'Rin in the face, rousing her back to reality.

Pa'Rin turned to head back inside, but stopped. Vestra was at the door, draped in her cloak and likewise staring at the night.

"Time was, I had lived where I was closer to others," she said wistfully. "Since I learned of this news, I have gone into hiding. No _psi'vali_ guided me to this place, but Vestra did not wish to cross the paths of those that may do harm to me, or to your family. Vestra has always had your best interest in mind, so you see. But now it is time for you to be looking for your parents. Yes oh yes."

But Pa'Rin did not feel like moving. She slumped down next to Rymar, her back resting against his smooth and scaly hide. "What hope is there? Will they be unharmed when I find them? _If_ I find them? Will they be alive or dead? Has the _psi'vali_ told you any of _that_, Vestra?"

The old woman sighed. "All I am knowing is that you will find them alive. They will have important words for you. But I can say no more."

Pa'Rin stood up, steadying herself against Rymar. "Why not? Can't you divine the bones again? Right now, for me?"

Vestra bowed her head so low that it could not be seen; all Pa'Rin could discern was an angled landscape of shaded wrinkly flesh. "The _psi'vali _said that I would need not divine until I am once again visited, after you have left me. After this parting, I shall never see you again."

Pa'Rin barely heard her. The woman's word defied logic. "What do they say of my parents' condition? Will they be injured, or…"

"My dear, I had asked these questions and more of the voices, and they have told me all that they will. This is all that Vestra may share with you. You will find more answers, in time. But not here."

The young girl shook her head. "How do you know the bones aren't _lying?_ Is that not possible?" But she knew Vestra would stand firmly by what she'd already claimed, that the _psi'vali_ never failed to speak truly. Pa'Rin shivered with futility.

"We've lost the scent," Pa'Rin went on. "Rymar lost the scent we were following. We found a spearhead in the ashes of where I last saw my parents—"

"Do you mean, _this_?" Vestra threw back part of her cloak. Clutched tightly in her hand was the spearhead, gleaming with the light of the scent burning lamps. Pa'Rin blinked several times at the object.

"How in Trylia did you get that?" Pa'Rin shouted joyfully. It was the first time in hours she'd felt anything close to happiness.

Vestra looked away, coyly. "Oh, Vestra saw something glimmering in the weeds when I came out to give your tralion his drink earlier."

Every cell of in Pa'Rin's body knew that was an outright lie. Vestra wasn't trying to make her actually believe it, she figured. The old woman was simply keeping a secret. __

"How did you _really _get it, Vestra. No half-truths or no-truths." _Why must she try my trust in her?_

Vestra tittered. "So sorry, my blessing. Let us just say that the spearhead found its way to Vestra, leading you and your tralion friend to Vestra as well."

Pa'Rin could not deny that. She was desperate to know the truth, but chose not to pursue it.

_Was it magic?_ she thought._ It could have been, couldn't it have? Yes. That is good enough for me. If I am to believe she hears voices from bones, then surely this is within her power also._

"Come inside, my dear little one. Vestra will return the spearhead to you, and provide you with food and supplies for the long journey ahead. You will find your trail again, and it will lead you to where you need to go." Vestra turned and went back inside the hut, rummaging around her shelves and placing items in a woven sack beside the prahma.

Pa'Rin stood there, somewhat relieved. The world was far stranger to her now, but things were somehow starting to make sense. She thought about the fortunes Vestra had spoken of, about her destiny and how she must act upon it. But none of that mattered at the moment. Her parents were waiting.

_I believe some of what Vestra says, but I do not wish to believe all of it. Is that possible for me to do?_

She kissed Rymar on the top of his head. "We're almost ready to go, Ry." And back into to Vestra's hut she went, for the last time ever.


	10. EXCERPT from: Alec's Daemon

**Excerpt from "Chapter Fifteen – Alec's D****ae****mon" of **

**_THE LONELY TRAVELER – Republic of Heaven, Book One_******

Alec was dreaming. He was a baby, but could speak. His parents were there with him, but something was different: His mother was the age she was when she died, and his father was the same age as he was. The three of them were flying, descending into a valley, filled with lush trees and wildflowers. The three of them sped over the ground, clearing the grassy slope by just a few inches. A cat was sitting on his father's shoulders. It's that cat he saw earlier…Kirjava, he remembered.

But somehow, unlike before when he'd found his father talking with her, he was not upset by her presence.  On his mother's shoulders sat a lemur—what's a lemur doing there? And flying alongside himself is a glowing point of light, no larger than the tip of his finger. His parents looked over at him and said, "She'll have a name soon." He didn't know what to make of that, but felt excited. 

He and his parents reached the floor of the valley and landed by the edge of a small brook, full of smooth stones of varying sizes, and sheltered by sagging shade trees that filtered the sunlight. His father picked him up in his arms. He felt…happy…and glad to be near in his father; not a trace of anger or bitterness. He loved him. The glowing point of light hovered among them, flitting this way and that but never straying far.

"What shall we name her?" Alec didn't know if his father was speaking to him, the cat, his mother, or the lemur. 

"Why not let Alec decide, dear?" answered his mother. He looked over at her, but she wasn't there; instead of seeing her and the lemur side by side, _she _was now a giant lemur, and the first lemur he'd seen had now gone. 

"I'm not sure…I've only just met her," Alec said. "Do _I_ have to decide?"

"Why not?" said Will. "She's _you_. Usually it's not your choice to make, but this is a special occasion."

He set Alec down, who was now suddenly his current age again. His father was now an adult again, and the giant lemur was gone. The floating point of light grew bigger, to the size of a cricket ball, and stopped its happy fluttering. It hung in the air a few feet from Alec's face.

He sat staring at the light…it was brighter than anything he'd seen before, but his eyes didn't hurt at all. He stared deeper into the glowing object, and the harder the stared, the more it grew. He looked even closer and saw that it was made of thousands—no, millions—of tiny pieces of light, all buzzing and humming and wriggling against each other. And he smiled.

"I know! I'll name you—"

A large hand shook Alec. It belonged to one of the ship's security guards who'd come into to have a late-night snack. Will snapped awake.   
          "What? Hmmm? I'm…I'm sorry...I was just…I know what I'll name…I'll name her…"

The guard squinted at Alec. "What's that, son?" he said. "Everything alright? You need help to your room?"

Alec blinked at the guard. He realized where he was again. "No, no, sir. I'm fine. I just…I mean, I just came in here for a…"

And on the other side of the eatery, past the security, past all the empty tables and the bored waitress, Alec saw a meerkat, perched on the edge of a jukebox.

He froze.

The guard turned to see what he was staring at, and saw only the jukebox. "You came in here for a…a song, maybe?" The guard knew something was going on, and figured Alec really wasn't interested in anything in the jukebox's selection. He just wanted to see what he'd say.

The meerkat jumped down from the jukebox and skittered across the floor toward Alec and the guard. It leapt up and perched on the edge of the opposite side of the booth.

Alec just kept staring, his mouth more open now then when he'd seen Kirjava speak. But despite his astonishment, Alec knew it would be best if he got the guard to leave him be. He took a deep breath, turned to the guard and said, "I just came in for a coffee and a croissant. Thank you very much."

This seemed to satisfy the guard, who shrugged, looked once more at the jukebox that had apparently transfixed the young man, and went about his nightly rounds.

Alec examined the perched creature, who suppressed a giggle.      "Hello, Alec," his dæmon said warmly.

*    *    *    *     *    *    *    *

Alec sat for nearly an hour at the booth, not moving. The warm feelings from his dream had been replaced by feelings of contempt. He'd stopped looking at his dæmon a while ago, which was now sitting right in front of him at the table. His dæmon did not look back, knowing he was still skeptical and distressed. Occasionally, the waitress came by and asked if she could get him anything. He absentmindedly asked for a glass of water each time she'd come by. He was now on his fourth glass.

          The dæmon, it seemed, was getting on Alec's nerves. But she spoke very gently, and with utmost sincerity.

          "I could assume another shape if you wished. I thought you'd like this one, you know? I know you how liked the meerkats on nature shows…"

          Alec sat blankly and sipped his fourth glass of water. 

          "Look. I know this is all new for you. Me too. But…I _am _you, Alec. You know that."

          Alec said nothing, sitting defiantly, as if he were trying to win a staring contest. He hoped somehow, deep down, he'd make this _thing _go away by sheer will. Despite everything he'd seen, and everything his father had told him, he wasn't ready to give in completely just yet. What occurred to him, though, was his dæmon was very likely his equal when it came to stubbornness. Alec sighed through his nostrils and bowed his head. His dæmon held still, waiting for him to say something.

"I don't want a demon," he said quietly. The dæmon blinked at him.

"I know," she said. "And I'm sorry it happened this way."

"It wouldn't have mattered," he said. "I know my father wanted to tell me properly, but it wouldn't have mattered."

"You don't really think that, Alec."

He didn't argue this point. Maybe was more angry at his father than anything else…but no, he didn't want this thing, this _burden_ following him around, talking to him for the rest of his life, and maybe even beyond…

"You can't just…disappear, or something?"

          His dæmon gave a little laugh. "No. Well, in a manner of speaking, I can, but only when you die. And only those who could see me…"

She trailed off. Alec wasn't listening; his attention had drifted to an older couple sitting on two stools at the eatery's counter.

"Those two over there. They have dæmons?"

"Them. Everyone," she said.

"Why can't I see them?"

His dæmon sat hopefully, encouraged by his inquisitiveness.

"It's for them to see, at least in this world. If they can't see them, you can't either."

Alec turned to his dæmon. "How do you know so much?"

"Because _you_ do," she countered.

This gave him pause. It was fully dawning on him that this conversation he was having, every word that was spoken by him and this dæmon—he was talking to himself. _Debating _with himself. Not wanting to hear what he had to say. Until that point, he'd put some mental distance between he and she. But it finally hit home; he knew his dæmon represented "the voice in his head," that part of him that helps him make a tough choice, warns him against danger, even decides what to have for breakfast. But he'd always considered that to be his _mind_ doing the "talking," not his soul. And now that he could see his dæmon, every decision he had to make, every emotion he had, would be held up to him like a mirror he could never shy away from.

And he didn't like that one bit.

So he thought for a moment more, turned to his dæmon, and replied.

"I was just now having a dream," he said, "And I'm figuring it was to do with you. I was about to name you, I think, just before I woke up. And I'm going to name you now."

His dæmon's eyes sparkled with anticipation.

"What's that, Alec?"

He paused. In his dream, he _had _chosen a name for his dæmon. Just before the guard roused him, he was about to say "Kelly," which was the name of his favorite pet dog as a boy. In his dream, he was feeling nothing by joy and the love of family, and to him, Kelly would be the perfect name for his dæmon. But he was awake now, and he had nothing but spite for this creature.

"Your name will be: Bugger."

His dæmon, now unceremoniously named Bugger, gasped. She blinked at him with disappointed eyes. Alec smiled to himself and took another sip from the glass. _Take that, voice in my head,_ he thought. Bugger could feel hot tears beginning to well up.

She lowered her head and stared at the table. Then, after a moment, she looked into his eyes with a fierce dignity few dæmons had ever had to muster against their humans. If Alec didn't know any better, she was smiling.

"I see, she said. Well, there are a few things I should tell _you._ First off, that will be my name forever. Once a dæmon is named, it can't be renamed."

Alec knew that; his father had told him as much.

"Second…you've had quite a lot of water to drink, haven't you?"

Alec froze. He knew what was coming.

She continued. "I know you won't like the thought of this, but I feel I should remind you that, even in your most private, embarrassing moments, I'll be there, nearby, with you."

He hadn't considered that. No, he hadn't considered that at all.

"And finally," she said, "Any time when you are in danger, whenever you need a friend or someone to talk to, and you really need me—and you can bet your life, you _will_ need me—that it is in these moments that you will always be reminded of this day, and the exact moment who you chose to name me because of misplaced feelings."

Alec was floored. He felt as if he'd just been punched in the stomach. What in the world had he just done?

"But know this, too, Alec," she went on, "I will never leave you, just as I won't leave you know. I can't. I don't think there are many people who've been at odds with their dæmons, but then again, no one in this world can see theirs, save your father, Mary, and yourself. So maybe this is a normal reaction you're having." Alec remembered that his father told him about Mary seeing her dæmon, but that fact barely registered at the moment.

"So I understand why you did this, and I can't say I'm pleased, but it doesn't matter. Like it or not…" she said as she touched his hand with her paw, "I'm hear to stay."

Alec was indeed a very conflicted young man.

He drew his hand away, and stood up. He grabbed his jacket and headed for his and Will's room. He opened the door, which was unlocked, and climbed into bed. Will heard him enter, but said nothing.

And from that point on, Alec, with dæmon in tow, was silent the rest of the way home.


End file.
